


Soul Healing

by ArianaFandoms



Series: Soul Healing [1]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Inspired by Hungarian mythology, Invented race, Richard Armitage - Freeform, Slow Burn, Thorin/Talaitha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-28
Updated: 2014-08-01
Packaged: 2018-01-21 04:08:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 53
Words: 138,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1536950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArianaFandoms/pseuds/ArianaFandoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Talaitha is a traveling healer who's perfectly content with her solitary lifestyle. That is, until a certain scheming wizard convinces her to join Thorin's Company as their healer. Faced with more terror, pain, and joy than she imagined possible, Talaitha must decide if Thorin and his kin are worth relinquishing her previous life for good. Eventual Thorin/OFC (slow burn). Rated M/E for later chapters.</p><p>*This story is currently in the process of a massive rewrite.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Uninvited Guests

_The Shire, 2941_

It was a warm, breezy afternoon when Talaitha exited the home of Ferumbras Took III, bidding the thain farewell. The medicine she had delivered would last the hobbits over a year, unless an epidemic struck. Many of the Shire's healers, however, were skilled enough to recognize and treat contagious illnesses before they could spread out of control. Talaitha had made sure of that.

As a healer, she had a responsibility to protect all living things, and her particular fondness for hobbits had prompted her to teach their healers remedies that were unknown in much of Middle-earth. The concoctions were oftentimes more effective against stubborn sicknesses than the conventional treatments. That was because, like the healer herself, the herbs and recipes were not of Middle-earth, but of a land boasting remarkable medicinal plants.

As she walked along the path from Tuckborough to Hobbiton, she smiled and waved at the passing hobbits. Though they were friendly creatures, they nevertheless kept a close eye on visitors. Their reasoning was that if a person visited the Shire, a long journey was almost always involved. And journeys had the potential for adventure, something hobbits viewed with distaste.

So when Talaitha had first appeared in the Shire, astride her black and white horse, the hobbits were understandably wary. But when she'd healed their sick, given them potent medicines, and taught their healers her remedies, they had welcomed her with wide smiles. And when she'd marveled at their comfortable homes and helped them prepare meals for their celebrations, they had accepted her as an honorary member of the Shirefolk.

Little hobbit children ran after her, begging for stories of her adventures. Talaitha glanced up at the sky. It was past midday, and she was meant to meet Bilbo soon. But she could not resist the children's earnest faces. Settling under a tree, surrounded by her audience, she smoothed out her purple skirt and began.

"Across the Great Sea, lay the faraway land of Nemere. In much of Nemere, it seemed to always be summer. Thus, the people of Middle-earth called it the Evergreen Plain, though in the language of those who lived there, Nemere meant 'meadows of the sun.' For the sun always seemed to be smiling down upon it, blessing it with warmth and plentiful crops.

"The people who lived in Nemere were called the szelemér, which means 'descendent,' because they were believed to be the descendents of the first elves. However, you may know the szelemér better as fairies. But they are not the fairies of your stories. Most do not fly--at least not with wings. Most are taller than hobbits though much smaller than elves. And each fairy is gifted with a particular skill. Some are great blacksmiths, while others can weave magical tales through their songs."

"And some are great earth-speakers!" exclaimed one of the children.

"Right you are," Talaitha replied, with a chuckle. She paused her story, looking at the eager faces that gazed back at her. Many of the children had heard this story before, yet still they listened, enraptured. She supposed it was because the szelemér were a rather secretive people that did not often venture into Middle-earth. That probably also accounted for the myths that they were tiny, winged, elf-like creatures.

Talaitha smirked at the image and continued her tale.

"One fairy was an especially gifted earth-speaker. His name was Kund Földes, which means 'Kund of the Earth', and he was so benevolent and powerful that all the animals in Nemere pledged their loyalty to him. Kund was unique for a szelemér. He was not content to remain in Nemere, so he journeyed across the sea to Middle-earth, accompanied by some of his favorite animals, on a great ship. Unfortunately, he came to Middle-earth just as Sauron was planning to conquer it. During his travels, Kund had forged deep friendships with many of the races in Middle-earth, and he chose to join their fight against the Dark Lord. He led an army of Middle-earth's and Nemere's fiercest creatures--bears, wolves, huge oliphaunts, giant eagles--against Sauron's forces and defeated multiple battalions of orcs and trolls."

The children cheered at Kund's victory, and Talaitha laughed. They had the same reaction every time she told that story, but she always delighted in it. Once the children had settled down, she picked up where she left off.

"After the battle against Sauron was won, Kund continued his adventures in Middle-earth. During one summer, he fell in love with a beautiful woman from Rohan, or at least from the place that is called Rohan today. Her name was Aeronwen, meaning 'white, fair, blessed.' And indeed she _was_ blessed, for the line of Middle-earth's skin-changers began with her and Kund's offspring."

"But skin-changers are so tall, and the fairies are so small," remarked a child.

"Very true," replied Talaitha. "But over thousands of years, the children of Kund and Aeronwen's line grew taller, until they became the mighty skin-changers of today."

"What are the skin-changers like?" asked Primrose, one of Talaitha's favorite hobbit girls.

The healer smiled and stood. " _That_ is a story for another day," she said. "I'm late to meet Bilbo, and you all know how much he dislikes tardiness."

The children giggled and followed her down the path to Bag End. She watched them chase each other through the grass, before knocking on Bilbo's green door. Had she looked at it more closely, she would have seen the strange mark etched upon it.

"If it's you again, Gandalf, I am _not_ interested," Bilbo snapped from inside the hobbit hole.

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "Uh, no, Bilbo, it's Talaitha?"

The hobbit opened the door and sighed. "Sorry," he said, inviting her in. "I had a visit from Gandalf the wizard this morning." As he took her cloak, he pointed an accusatory finger at her. "You're late."

Talaitha gave him a sheepish smile and unbuckled the belt from which her _tarsoly_ \--her medicine satchel--hung.

"I know, I'm sorry. The children wanted a story."

Bilbo nodded. If Talaitha was late, it was usually because she could not resist indulging the children with a tale. But he understood their insistence, for he, too, enjoyed her stories. And she certainly had many. Her travels across Middle-earth as a healer allowed her to meet the various races and to learn their cultures.

Remembering Gandalf's offer, he considered how wonderful it would be to see the elves, with their otherwordly grace, and the dwarves, with their monumental cities. But then he shook his head, dislodging the absurd notion from it. He was a hobbit, and a Baggins, no less. Respectable hobbits detested adventure.

Bilbo set out the chive biscuits he had baked that morning and some butter to go with their tea.

"Which story did you tell them this time?"

"The one about Kund," Talaitha replied. She bit into a biscuit, savoring the rich flavor. Though most hobbits were skilled cooks and bakers, Bilbo was especially gifted. "What did Gandalf want?"

Bilbo nearly groaned. He was hoping to never think about that meeting again. But Talaitha's question was innocent enough, and she and Gandalf were friends. So he remained polite.

"He spoke some nonsense about my going on an adventure."

Talaitha's eyes widened, her teacup forgotten in her hand. The hobbit sounded concerned as he asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong," she replied, a bit too quickly. She attempted a reassuring smile that was not wholly successful. "I just wonder what that old man is up to."

And wonder she did, for a week ago, she had received a visit from Gandalf while in Bree. He hadn't spoken of an adventure, but his blue eyes had sparkled mischievously when she'd mentioned she would be in the Shire for a month. He, of course, knew that whenever she visited the hobbits, she stayed with Bilbo, so his meeting with her a week ago and with Bilbo today could not have been coincidence. The wizard was planning something.

Bilbo did not appear to be convinced, but he was more than happy to let the matter drop. He ate another biscuit and said, "Szélvész wandered into Brownfoot's garden and ate some of his carrots again."

Talaitha nearly choked on her tea. "Bilbo! You're supposed to make sure that _doesn't_ happen."

The hobbit could barely contain his grin. "You know how that mare is," he replied off-handedly. "If she wants to go, she'll go." Talaitha was about to reprimand him again, but he cut her off. "Besides, no one actually likes Brownfoot. He's a frightful sort."

Talaitha chuckled. What Bilbo said was true, at least by hobbit standards. Brownfoot was unsociable, taciturn, and prone to glaring at her.

"Still, he doesn't need another reason to dislike me."

Bilbo shrugged. "He can't _afford_ to dislike you. Your remedy healed his wife's twisted ankle in half the time."

She smiled and nibbled on her second buttered biscuit, reminiscing on the day she had met Bilbo. It had been during her second trip to the Shire seven years ago, right after he'd inherited Bag End. Some of the townspeople had already known of her, whether through her healing or her stories, but Bilbo had not. He'd wanted to meet the strange, copper-haired woman who traveled across Middle-earth with only her black and white horse for company. So when he saw her in the market on day, he'd boldly introduced himself, and they had been friends ever since.

While Bilbo cleared the table, she went into her room to change clothes. She exchanged the purple skirt; white blouse; and tan, embroidered bodice for a colorful blouse and ruffled skirt. Gaining the trust of her patients was crucial, and wearing the local fashions helped to secure that trust. At the end of the day, however, she always reverted back to the freer and silkier garments of her own people. .

Talaitha joined Bilbo in his den. They talked about next week's wedding, when Peony Hornblower would marry Alamac Brandybuck. They laughed that a member of the conservative Hornblower family would be living close to the Old Forest, which many hobbits believed to be home to dark and dangerous creatures. There were wolves, of course, but Talaitha had traveled through the woods many times and had yet to encounter anything sinister. Regardless, Peony would be quite safe, as the Brandybucks were one of the toughest families in the Shire. They had to be, living so near to the wilder lands.

After Talaitha recounted a story Ferumbras had told her earlier that day, she and Bilbo settled down to read as dusk approached.

#

Bilbo and Talaitha were preparing for a supper of roasted fish and potatoes, when the doorbell rang. She furrowed her eyebrows.

"Are you expecting someone else tonight?"

Bilbo's surprised expression was answer enough. He walked to the entry hall and opened the door. From the table, she heard the hobbit's confused voice, and then a dwarf entered the kitchen. As Talaitha's gaze swept over him, her green eyes widened. His bald head was generously tattooed, and his muscular frame towered over her.

"Evenin', lass," the dwarf greeted her, his voice deep and booming. "Dwalin, at your service."

She glanced uncertainly at the huge battle ax strapped to his back.

"Talaitha...at yours."

Dwalin sat down at the table and began to eat her and Bilbo's dinner. Glimpsing Bilbo's incredulous expression, she silently willed him to hold his tongue, until they could determine why the dwarf was there.

"Very good, this. Any more?" Dwalin asked, biting off the fish's head. Talaitha's stomach roiled.

"What? Oh, yes, yes," Bilbo replied and offered Dwalin the chive biscuits. "Help yourself." Talaitha stifled a grin when he sneaked two biscuits into his robe's pocket. Dwalin ate the remaining biscuits whole. "It's just that, um, I wasn't expecting company."

The doorbell chimed again.

"That'll be the door," the dwarf said helpfully. Talaitha remained with Dwalin, watching in combined awe and disgust as he barely chewed his food before swallowing it.

He had moved into the den and was fiddling with a jar of pastries, when a white-haired dwarf with a long beard entered the room. Bilbo mouthed his name to Talaitha, who was standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the den.

"Evening, Brother," Balin said.

Dwalin set down the jar. "By my beard, you are shorter and wider than last we met."

"Wider, not shorter," Balin replied crisply. "And sharp enough for both of us."

The brothers laughed, grasping each other's shoulders and slamming their heads together with such force that the sound echoed in the room. Talaitha winced and rubbed her forehead, as if she had felt the pain the dwarves had not.

"Uh, excuse me. I hate to interrupt, but the thing is, I'm not entirely sure you're in the right house," Bilbo said.

The hobbit and the woman followed the two dwarves into the kitchen, where Dwalin helped himself to a mug of ale.

"It's not that I don't like visitors. I like visitors as much as the next hobbit, but I _do_ like to know them before they come...visiting," Bilbo tried again.

To Talaitha's surprise, the hobbit watched calmly as Dwalin tossed a wedge of blue cheese to the floor.

"The thing is, I don't know either of you," Bilbo continued. "Not in the slightest. I don't mean to be blunt, but I had to speak my mind. I'm sorry."

The dwarves had thus far ignored his protests, but now Balin turned to him and smiled.

"Apology accepted."

The doorbell rang a third time. Bilbo moved to answer it, but Talaitha stopped him.

"Allow me."

She opened the door to reveal two handsome, young dwarves. One was dark-haired and beardless, while the other had blond hair and a short beard that was fashioned into twin braids.

"Fíli," said the blond dwarf.

"And Kíli," greeted the dark one.

"At your service," they said in unison.

Kíli smiled. "You must be Mrs. Boggins."

Talaitha wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, but for Bilbo's sake, she attempted to send the newcomers away.

"Sorry, you've come to the wrong house."

Kíli's booted foot prevented her from closing the door on them.

"What? Has it been cancelled?"

"No one told us," Fíli remarked, his blue eyes narrowing suspiciously.

"Cancelled? No, nothing's been cancelled," Talaitha replied. Then understanding dawned. This was Gandalf's doing!

Kíli grinned. "That's a relief."

The brothers brushed past Talaitha, handing her their weapons.

"It's nice, this place. Did you do it yourself?" Kíli asked.

"Er, no. It's been in the family for years," she replied. Talaitha set down Fíli's and Kíli's weapons and followed them into the house.

The dwarves were in the process of moving the dining table into the hallway, with Bilbo's protests falling on deaf ears. As if the hobbit's home wasn't crowded enough, the doorbell chimed a _fourth_ time.

"Oh, no, there's nobody home! Go away and bother somebody else! There's far too many dwarves in my dining room as it is," Bilbo shouted, truly annoyed now. "If this is some clothead's idea of a joke, I can only say it is in _very_ poor taste." He wrenched open the door, and eight dwarves tumbled inside.

The gray wizard peeked his head under the doorway. Bilbo sighed, realization dawning.

"Gandalf."


	2. Dynamic Dinner Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talaitha joins the dwarves for a party and meets Thorin. :)

While the dwarves helped themselves to Bilbo's food, Talaitha pulled Gandalf into the hall.

"Your little scheme might give Bilbo a heart attack," she reprimanded him.

The wizard grinned. "Then it is very fortunate that a healer is present."

"Do not attempt flattery, old man," she groused good-naturedly. "What is this all about?"

His gaze moved to the dwarves, before it settled on Bilbo.

"All will be revealed soon, my dear girl," he replied. "But I can tell you that Bilbo will have the opportunity to undertake an important task."

"You mean he'll go on an adventure," she supplied, her curiosity growing.

"A very great one at that." Gandalf smiled at her, his eyes twinkling with that familiar mischief. "I was pleased to learn that you would be here for this gathering, for I had hoped you would agree to the adventure, as well."

"I _knew_ you were up to something that day in Bree!" Talaitha exclaimed. A loud crash came from the pantry, followed by the hobbit's disgruntled voice. Talaitha frowned. "I think we've left Bilbo alone with the dwarves for too long." She turned, as if to walk away, then smiled at Gandalf over her shoulder. "It's good to see you again, old man."

Gandalf and Talaitha joined the others in the dining room. She paid special attention when the wizard counted the dwarves, struggling to remember their names. She already knew Balin, Dwalin, Fíli, and Kíli, but the rest remained a mystery. She did, however, note that Bifur had an ax in his head and only spoke Khuzdul. He would probably not be the ideal conversationalist, since her knowledge of the dwarvish language was marginal at best.

Supper was served, and Talaitha, mildly disgusted, marveled at the dwarves' lack of table manners. Bits of food tumbled from their mouths as they talked and guffawed, while roasted vegetables flew over her head, sometimes landing in a dwarf's mouth and sometimes not. She dodged a hard-boiled egg that Bombur actually managed to catch, only for her gaze to be met with Fíli's knees. He stood on the table, proffering her an ale. She accepted it.

"Thanks," she muttered and took a large gulp.

Fíli patted her shoulder in sympathy and moved on.

Once the feeding frenzy had calmed, Talaitha exchanged introductions with all the dwarves. Dori, she learned, was fond of chamomile tea, and his younger brother, Nori, was a thief.

"I'd keep an eye on him," advised Dori. "He's liable to make off with Mr. Baggins' silverware."

In the middle of her conversation with Ori, Kíli pulled her beside him on the bench.

"You're a puzzle," he complained, studying her intently. "You don't have hairy feet, so you're not a hobbit. You're obviously not a dwarf, even though you're the right height. Your ears are pointed, so you're not human. But you're too small to be an elf," he said. His gaze roved from her face to her clothes, the latter of which particularly held his interest. "And you wear strange garb. What _are_ you?"

"That's my little secret," she replied, with a wink.

"The little minx has a little secret," Kíli chuckled. "I'll let you keep it, for now." He winked back at her.

While the dwarves chugged their ale in unison, Talaitha sneaked out of the dining room to Bilbo, who was staring at his near-empty pantry. She placed a hand on his shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze.

"We'll go to the market tomorrow, and you'll never even know the pantry was bare," she promised.

Bilbo covered her hand with his, then turned to her. He gave her one of the biscuits he had rescued from Dwalin. Talaitha smiled in thanks and bit into it.

Now that the dwarves had eaten Bilbo out of house and home, they filed out of the dining room, leaving the table and floor covered with the remnants of their feast. While Bilbo tried to explain to Bofur the difference between a doily and a dish cloth, Talaitha pulled Fíli and Kíli aside. She folded her arms and regarded them with a steely glare.

"You lot had better clean up this mess."

Kíli smirked. "We'll clean it up," he assured her. "Right, Brother?"

"Of course, Brother," Fíli replied, with a matching expression. "Don't you worry, Miss Talaitha."

She glanced warily between the two, certain they were planning mischief.

"Good. See that you do."

Ori, the youngest of the group, approached Bilbo.

"Excuse me," he said shyly. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but what should I do with my plate?"

"There you go, Ori, give it to me."

Fíli took the plate and threw it to Kíli, who threw it to Bifur in the kitchen to wash. More dwarves joined in, setting up an efficient if precarious assembly line that was accompanied by a cheerful song. To Bilbo's alarm, plates and mugs sailed through the air, before they were caught by Fíli and Kíli. Despite having to dodge a couple wayward cups, Talaitha was impressed with the dwarves' accuracy and agility. The young brothers had even used their elbows and knees to bounce the bowls.

The clean dishes and silverware were soon stacked neatly in the center of the table, and even Bilbo seemed pleased with the result. The merriment, however, ended when three, loud knocks sounded on the door.

"He is here," said Gandalf soberly, almost forebodingly.

Talaitha followed the dwarves into the entry hall, curious who the latecomer was. The door opened to reveal a thirteenth dwarf.

"Gandalf," greeted the newcomer, in a voice so deep it sent a shiver up Talaitha's spine. "I thought you said this place would be easy to find. I lost my way twice." He took off his cloak and handed it to Kíli. "I wouldn't have found it at all had it not been for that mark on the door."

Bilbo stepped forward, irritated. "Mark? There's no mark on that door. It was painted a week ago."

"There _is_ a mark. I put it there myself," Gandalf answered sheepishly. He glanced between the hobbit and the dwarf. "Bilbo Baggins, allow me to introduce the leader of our company, Thorin Oakenshield."

Thorin examined Bilbo, but Talaitha was deaf to their conversation. Her attention was focused on Thorin, who seemed different from the other dwarves. Except for Dwalin, he was quite a bit taller than the rest. His black hair, which was streaked with silver, flowed over his shoulders, unadorned, save for two small braids on either side. He had a short beard, and his demeanor was stately, almost regal.

When he turned towards her, Talaitha's lips parted in surprise. Ice-blue eyes gazed back at her, before he led his kin into the dining room.

She didn't follow. Although Thorin did not appear as battle-hardened as Dwalin, he nevertheless intimidated and perplexed her. There was so much intensity simmering beneath his cool, confident exterior that Talaitha had no idea what to think of the dwarf. He intrigued her, and not only because his name was teasingly familiar.

Talaitha heard Balin ask about a meeting in Ered Luin, and she inched closer, standing just out of sight behind the archway to the dining room.

"They will not come," said Thorin. Disappointed murmurs filled the room. "They say this quest is ours, and ours alone."

"You're going on a quest?" Bilbo inquired, his own interest finally piqued.

In reply, Gandalf requested more light. Talaitha's curiosity got the better of her when Bilbo mentioned the Lonely Mountain. She squeezed in between the hobbit and the wizard, too absorbed in the map that lay on the table to notice Thorin's glance flitting to her.

Talaitha's skin prickled with excitement. She had heard whispers of Smaug and his attack on Dale and the dwarves of Erebor, but she did not know the specifics. She suddenly realized that _Thorin_ was the exiled prince who had helped his people to escape the dragon. _He_ was the wandering dwarf blacksmith she had heard stories about on her travels.

She sucked in a breath, then blushed as Thorin's gaze met hers. They stared at each other for a moment, until an argument broke out amongst the dwarves. Standing, Thorin quelled it, his voice booming in Khuzdul.

"If we have read these signs, do you not think others will have, too?" he said. "Rumors have begun to spread. The dragon Smaug has not been seen for sixty years. Eyes look east to the mountain, assessing, wondering, weighing the risk. Perhaps the vast wealth of our people now lies unprotected. Do we sit back while others claim what is rightfully ours? Or do we seize this chance to take back Erebor?"

Talaitha was transfixed by the passion Thorin possessed beneath that stoic exterior. His kinsmen cheered, equally moved by the speech. Their decision was made.

Gandalf handed him a large, silver key and spoke about a hidden entrance into Erebor. Now she understood why the wizard had chosen Bilbo for the adventure. He would be the dwarves' burglar, who would sneak into Erebor and steal back their treasure. Precisely how he would manage that alone, however, Talaitha did not know.

Like all hobbits, Bilbo enjoyed his quiet, bucolic lifestyle--a lifestyle that was now turned upside down. His house had been invaded by twelve rowdy dwarves, invited there without his permission by a scheming wizard. His food had been eaten, a mess had been made, he'd been enlisted in a dangerous quest without his knowledge or acquiescence, and he'd been insulted by Thorin.

Talaitha pitied him. Bilbo was a kind hobbit, and he did not deserve this upheaval.

It required some convincing, but Thorin finally agreed to include Bilbo in the quest. Balin handed him a contract and instructed him to sign it. Bilbo quietly perused it, his expression steadily morphing into horror the more he read. Bofur exacerbated the situation as he explained in great detail what would happen to the hobbit should Smaug breathe fire on him.

"Oh, aye, he'll melt the flesh off your bones in the blink of an eye."

Bilbo made a frightened noise, prompting Balin to ask, "You alright, laddie?"

"I feel a bit faint," he replied. Talaitha saw that he was struggling to remain calm.

Bofur stood, miming a flying motion. "Think furnace with wings."

"Air. I need air." Bilbo looked like he was about to be sick.

"A flash of light, searing pain, then _poof_ , you're nothing more than a pile of ash," Bofur concluded cheerfully.

For a moment, it appeared that Bilbo would be fine, but then he fainted and hit the floor with a _thud_.

"Oh, well done," Talaitha snapped, rushing to her friend.

With Gandalf's help, she moved him to an armchair in the den. When the hobbit came to, she handed him a cup of tea and glanced pointedly at the wizard on her way out.

She startled at the deep voice that addressed her from behind.

"I do not believe we have met."

Talaitha faced the speaker, her eyes widening as she met Thorin's intense, wary gaze. The flame of the candles reflected in her green eyes and made her curly hair shine like molten copper. His attention lingered on her silver necklace, then moved down to her clothes. They were strange indeed and rather brazen, especially her blouse, which was cut low at the neckline and was sheer at the midriff.

Talaitha fidgeted under his scrutiny, so he looked at her face again with an expectant expression. She realized he was still awaiting her answer.

"I'm Talaitha Borvirág," she said, and hastily added, "which is Talaitha Borage, in the Common Tongue."

She spoke with a faint accent, but it was not one Thorin had heard before. He glimpsed her pointed ears, the left of which was pierced four times and the right, three times. His eyebrows rose in surprise. Only dwarven and haradrim women were known to bear multiple piercings in their ears, and she was definitely neither.

A glint of white attracted his attention to her necklace again. On a silver chain hung a silver locket that was painted with a colorful, floral design. Though he did not know its origins, it looked simultaneously familiar and foreign.

"You are not of Middle-earth, are you?" he asked gruffly.

Talaitha was taken aback by his blunt question, but she nevertheless met his gaze steadily.

"No, I am not."


	3. The All-Seeing Wizard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Talaitha interact, and Gandalf sees more than they think.

Out of the corner of her eye, Talaitha spied Balin walking into the hall. She took the old dwarf's arrival as an opportunity to avoid a more detailed response to Thorin's question and retreated into the den. She met Bilbo on his way out but did not ask him about his conversation with Gandalf. Judging from his unhappy expression, it hadn't gone well. She flashed him a smile, which he briefly returned, and let him withdraw into his bedroom.

Some of the dwarves were standing in the den smoking their pipes. During one of her visits to the Shire, Talaitha had tried pipe weed. The taste had been vile, but the slightly sweet aroma was not unpleasant.

Ori appeared by her side and shyly asked about her locket. She explained that it was an heirloom passed down by the women in her family and that it was her most treasured possession. Emboldened by Talaitha's smile, he praised the simple beauty of the painted design and told her that he enjoyed art. She asked to see his drawings, to which Ori eagerly agreed, and she listened as he told her the inspiration behind them.

Not long after Talaitha had sat down in an armchair, Thorin joined them to stand by the fire. Low hums saturated the room, and Thorin began to sing so deeply and richly that she could almost _feel_ the timbre of his voice. On the second stanza, the other dwarves joined in. She listened, transfixed by the hauntingly beautiful melody. The lyrics recounted how Smaug had stolen Erebor, and she could almost see the devastation he had wreaked. The dwarves sang as if the song were sacred, and to them, it _was_.

Her gaze was drawn to Thorin once more. Seeing the sadness on his face, her heart constricted. Talaitha could no longer think ill of him, for she knew then that he was utterly committed to his people and their plight.

When the song ended, Thorin went outside. Talaitha followed him, after making certain the dwarves would not notice her absence. As she passed Gandalf, she rolled her eyes at the knowing look on his face. She suspected he was somehow aware of her thoughts concerning the dwarf king, but as long as he kept his observations to himself, Talaitha did not care.

Stepping through the door, she found Thorin by the front gate, with his face upturned towards the stars. He did not acknowledge her arrival, and minutes of silence elapsed before she gathered enough courage to speak to him.

"You sing beautifully," she complimented him softly.

Thorin looked at her, his gaze flicking from her barely concealed midriff to her locket and ears. She knew he was trying to discern her race, and she felt a small jolt of satisfaction as she realized she had not been the only one set off-balance by their meeting. With this knowledge, she felt much bolder.

"What you set out to do is brave and noble," she said, with a small smile. "Your people are fortunate to have such a leader."

Thorin's expression softened, but before he could reply, the front door opened and Gandalf walked through. Thorin and Talaitha turned to him.

"What a pleasant night this is," the wizard remarked cheerfully. "Oh, Thorin. I believe Balin wished to speak with you."

Thorin nodded and, with a final glance towards Talaitha, went inside. She was surprised at the pang of disappointment she felt at his leaving.

"He's a particularly stubborn dwarf," Gandalf said pensively, staring at the door through which Thorin had disappeared. "But I fear even that will not be enough to reclaim Erebor."

Talaitha sighed. "Of course it won't be. Thirteen dwarves and a potential hobbit against a dragon? Those are not favorable odds."

"And a wizard," Gandalf murmured. "But they will nevertheless need a strong healer at journey's end." He watched her closely, gauging her reaction.

"You do realize you are asking me to face a dragon, don't you?"

A brow arched in amusement. She was silent, considering, as she tried to ignore the wizard's expectant gaze. Though Talaitha had encountered and fended off wild animals during her travels, a dragon was a different beast entirely. Gandalf was not expecting her to fight it, of course, but she would undoubtedly be near it if she had to heal someone.

Then she remembered the dwarves' song andThorin's loyalty to his people. Could she sit by, safe from harm, while the dwarves fought for their home?

"Thorin will not have me in his Company," Talaitha said slowly. "He doesn't trust me. He doesn't even know what I am."

Gandalf gave her a pointed look. "That is not for lack of curiosity."

"You see far too much for your own good, Wizard," she replied sharply, though the twitch of her lips softened her retort.

Gandalf chuckled and placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Thorin will accept you. It may require a bit of charm and a show of your skills, but he will agree."

"Charm," Talaitha grinned. "Very well, Gandalf, I will go. I must stop in Chetwood first, though."

He held back a grin. He had known she would agree.

"Meet us in Imladris. The Company has business with Lord Elrond, though they do not yet know it."

She laughed, pitying the dwarves, well aware of their aversion towards elves.

"Sometimes you are as impish as a child, Szürkevándorló."

Gandalf smiled fondly at her name for him. It meant the same as Gandalf and Mithrandir, but it was in the language of her people, which she only spoke around those she trusted.

"Indeed," he replied. "Now let us rejoin the Company!"

Talaitha followed Gandalf into the house and seated herself in her favorite armchair. She sank into the plush fabric, resting her head against the arm, and watched the dwarves. Balin and Dwalin exchanged stories of what they had done since last they met. Bombur had managed to scrounge up some bread and cheese. Fíli and Kíli were laughing with Bifur and Bofur, while Ori wrote in his book.

Talaitha grew drowsy, her eyelids beginning to droop. She fought to remain awake, but the sweet scent of Gandalf's pipe smoke and the low din of the dwarves' conversations soon lulled her to sleep.

Thorin was listening to Balin plan their journey, when his attention shifted to the small figure curled up in a chair. He waited until Balin had finished, then walked over to Talaitha. She had chosen a chair that was mostly in the shadows, so Thorin was certain that the dwarves would not see his next action. He took off his coat and draped it over Talaitha's sleeping form, tucking it in carefully around her neck. The corners of his mouth quirked into something akin to a smile as she snuggled into the garment, and he resisted the urge to touch one of the copper curls that had freed itself from her braided bun.

With a shake of his head, Thorin rejoined his kin.

Indeed, none of the dwarves had seen his thoughtful gesture, but Gandalf had. And he smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Pronunciations: 
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> 1\. Szürkevándorló: The "ü" sounds closest to the French "eu" in "dieu." So, _seurke_ -vaahndor-low.
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> Meaning: Hungarian translation of Gandalf and Mithrandir. Literally means "gray wanderer."


	4. He's Going on an Adventure!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even _more_ Thorin and Talaitha interaction. And Thorin meets Szélvész.

The next morning, Talaitha awoke feeling warm and content. A soft, heavy garment covered her, and the first thing she noticed was the distinctly male scent that emanated from it. She smelled pipe smoke, earth, and something faintly musky. They were unfamiliar aromas yet inexplicably comforting ones, as well.

As she sat up, a leather coat slipped from her shoulders. That explained the weight, then. She felt the fur around the collar, attempting to match the coat with its owner. With a start, she realized it belonged to Thorin. Talaitha was alone in the den now, but surely the dwarves had seen her asleep in their leader's coat when they had awoken. A blush crept into her cheeks. She tugged on the coat, avoiding the kitchen where the dwarves were preparing breakfast, and went outside.

She found Thorin readying the ponies. Szélvész nickered a greeting to her, which drew the dwarf's attention. He smirked when he saw how large his coat was on her, how the sleeves drowned her arms and the bottom hem brushed the grass. For reasons yet unknown to him, the sight sent a tendril of warmth through him.

"Good morning."

"Morning," Talaitha replied. She shrugged off the coat and held it out to him. "Thank you. It kept me quite warm during the night."

Thorin nodded, their fingers briefly touching as he took his coat from her. Talaitha approached Szélvész to stroke her velvety nose. The small black and white horse affectionately nuzzled Talaitha's cheek, and the woman smiled.

"So she's yours, then," Thorin murmured darkly.

Talaitha's arm slid protectively around Szélvész's neck. “Yes,” she affirmed, frowning, “she's mine."

"She nearly bit me.”

Talaitha studied him for a moment, then laughed.

"I’m sorry, Szélvész is a bit wary of strangers. Please don’t take it personally." She turned to the mare and admonished her with a gentle poke to her nose, earning a playful nudge in response. "You must be nice to him, Szélvész. He's a king, you know."

The horse eyed Thorin dubiously, as though she had understood her mistress' words but did not believe them, and whinnied softly at him. Thorin felt that a truce had settled between them. Before he could voice his surprise, Kíli poked his head out the door to tell them that breakfast was ready.

There was enough food left to make a decent meal of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and tomatoes, and Talaitha managed to salvage a plate for Bilbo. After they finished breakfast, she helped the dwarves clean up both the kitchen and the rest of the house, smiling once the rooms no longer bore evidence of last night's party.

She joined the Company outside, while they mounted their ponies. Szélvész observed the process with alert ears, but when Bifur and Bombur moved too close to her, they flattened suspiciously. Talaitha flashed her a pointed look. The mare snorted but left the dwarves alone.

As the Company prepared to depart, Talaitha bid them farewell. “I wish you a safe and successful journey,” she said, her gaze passing over each of the dwarves. When it reached Gandalf, however, she smiled slyly. Unbeknownst to his companions, she would be seeing them again very soon. “May the blessings of Aulë and all the Valar go with you.”

Thorin was the last to acknowledge her, giving her a small nod and a lingering glance, before leading the Company from Bag End. Talaitha remained on the porch, until they disappeared around the bend.

When she returned inside, Bilbo was already awake and exploring the house. She looked on in amusement as he peered under cushions and poked his head into the fireplace. Seemingly satisfied with his inspection, he finally noticed her.

"Everything's clean,” he observed. “How?"

Talaitha shrugged. "The dwarves felt bad about the mess and cleaned it up."

Bilbo nodded and moved into the hall, staring at the contract that lay on a table. Thorin’s and Balin’s signatures were on it, but the space for “burglar” was empty. His hand twitched towards the paper, then he cleared his throat.

“Did the dwarves happen to leave me something to eat?”

“They really went at it,” replied Talaitha, “but I was able to save you breakfast.”

She warmed up the bacon and eggs in a pan over the fire and sat with Bilbo while he ate. Neither spoke during the meal. Bilbo seemed pensive, and Talaitha was content to leave him to his thoughts.

Once he had finished eating, however, he remarked, "So, they've gone on their quest."

"It would appear so," Talaitha agreed. She observed him as he gazed outside the window. "Don't you want to _use_ your maps and _meet_ the people from your books?" she asked him suddenly.

Startled, Bilbo's attention shifted to her. "I don't even know how to fight."

"You'll learn,” she said offhand. “I did."

"Need I remind you that there's a dragon waiting at the end of it?"

“There is,” she nodded. “But remember how many times you've accidentally sneaked up on me? Smaug might not even notice you're there."

"It'll be cold, dirty, and wet," Bilbo protested. "And I'll have to sleep on the ground."

"Yes, but isn’t it worth it to see the wonders of Middle-earth? You'll get to meet the elves, stroll around Rivendell, and witness as Erebor is restored to its former glory."

Bilbo considered her words, but Talaitha had seen the spark of excitement in his eyes. She knew his decision before he even voiced it.

"Yes, it is,” he declared, then rushed around the house, hastily stuffing clothes and food and even a book into a leather pack. He signed the contract and shoved that into his bag, too. "Are you coming?"

"Not yet,” she said. “I have two snakebite victims to treat in Chetwood first.” Talaitha smiled at her friend fondly. “But we’ll meet again soon, I promise.”

His face fell, despite the assurance. “So I’m going to be traveling with thirteen dwarves, and I won’t even have a buffer?”

“Gandalf can be your buffer,” she suggested.

“Oh, yes, the wizard” muttered Bilbo. “He was the one who got me into this mess.”

Talaitha laughed. “Like I said, we’ll meet again soon. Until then, think about the fact that you’ll have enough adventures to write a book of your own.”

The prospect appeared to mollify him, but he was not so distracted that he forgot to remind her to lock the door when she left. She laughed and pulled him into a hug, which he readily returned.

When Talaitha released him, Bilbo cleared his throat and said, "Right, I suppose I'll be off now. I've a bit of catching up to do, I imagine."

They said their goodbyes, then he was sprinting down the path and leaping over fences. The world, with all its wonders and perils, lay ahead.


	5. Consequences of Carelessness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get the first glimpse of Talaitha-the-healer, as opposed to Talaitha-the-tag-along, which makes it very important. It is always my goal to supply my OFCs with a purpose, because I dislike the kind that are solely a love interest. But I guess that's just the feminist in me.

Not long after Bilbo had embarked on his journey, Talaitha and Szélvész were on the East-West Road, heading swiftly for Bree. After a quick restocking of supplies, they turned north towards Chetwood and reached Archet by midday.

The residents of Archet were predominantly humans, though a few hobbits waved at her as she hurried to the healers. Most of the people knew her, or at least knew the brown leather dress she often wore on her medicine runs. Even if her face was unfamiliar to someone, the dress was quickly recognized as that of the wandering healer. The garment was far from beautiful, but Talaitha was fond of it, because blood and other bodily fluids were easier to clean from it than from other fabrics. It was perhaps a morbid reasoning, but she had become far more pragmatic about her clothes since beginning her travels.

A healer named Thamina rushed out of the house that served as the town's infirmary. "Thank goodness you are here," she said, visibly relieved. "One of them has taken a turn for the worse."

Talaitha followed Thamina into the hospital and grimaced at the sight that met her. Both snakebite victims lay unconscious on a cot, their skin pallid and slicked with sweat. The first man's hand had tripled in size and was covered by a large ulcer, while the second man's foot was similarly affected, but was also mottled with greenish-black splotches. The markings were a sure sign that the skin was necrotized.

Talaitha wasted no more time. Crouching, she placed her hands on the first man's chest and closed her eyes. The skin beneath her palms grew warm, and his heartbeat quickened slightly as a tendril of energy passed to him. Abruptly, Talaitha opened her eyes and removed her hands, then focused on the second man. Because his condition was graver, he would require more energy. She repeated the transfer, allowing herself a second to breathe before continuing their treatment. This process did not heal the men so much as give them the strength and time they needed for the antidote to purge the venom from their bodies. As such, she was less of a healer and more of a sustainer.

Next, Talaitha requested hot water, clean cloths, and strong alcohol. The herbal antivenom would prevent the snake venom from causing further harm, but it would not reverse the damage already inflicted. The man with the gangrenous foot required immediate attention. For him to avoid fatal blood poisoning, she would have to cut away the dead tissue, a task she always dreaded performing. After cleaning her hands in the town's strongest liquor, she soaked two cloths in it and used one on the man's foot and the second on the other man's hand. The alcohol would numb the pain, as well as protect against infection.

Dousing a sharp knife in the alcohol, Talaitha steeled herself with a few deep breaths, then cut into the foot. The smell of rotting flesh pervaded the room, and Talaitha tried to breathe as little as possible. She was careful to only incise the necrotized tissue, but even so, nearly a fourth of the man's foot was gone when she finished. Thamina took over after that. She cleaned the open wound with hot water and dabbed at it with alcohol, before administering a healing salve and securing a bandage around it.

Talaitha moved on to the first man's hand, which, fortunately, had not turned gangrenous yet. Although she would not have to remove flesh, the ulcer nevertheless concerned her. Healing it would require multiple daily cleanings and dressings, or else infection could set in and lead to necrosis. She rubbed Thamina's healing paste into the ulcer and bandaged it.

While Archet’s healers finished treating the men, Talaitha pulled Thamina aside. "What happened?” she asked, baffled. “They shouldn’t have deteriorated this much or this suddenly."

Thamina sighed. "Our venom-purifying tonic is very effective, as you know," she said, “but only when it’s administered immediately after being bitten. Over three hours had elapsed before these men received treatment, because they were so far out in the marshes."

"I thought people who worked in the marshes took a phial of the antivenom with them," remarked Talaitha, her brows raised in surprise.

"Ordinarily, yes,” affirmed Thamina. She glanced at the two men, the lines on her face evidence of her concern. “But for whatever reason, these men did not."

Talaitha was silent, pensive. That explained the ulcer and the gangrene. She was reassured that the medicine remained potent, but the men's apparent carelessness troubled her. If she had not been nearby in Hobbiton, they would not have survived, for she had felt their bodies failing as the antivenom worked too slowly.

Thamina saw Talaitha's gaze harden and accurately guessed her thoughts. She placed a hand on the smaller woman’s arm, smiling.

"When they awake, I’m sure they will have learned their lesson."

"Yes, but at what cost?" Talaitha asked. "They’re fortunate that no limb amputation was required, but the man may never regain full use of his foot."

"Perhaps not. But he is alive and will recover," Thamina said. "At the end of the day, that is what matters."

For an instant, it appeared that Talaitha would argue, but then she nodded, evidently placated. She had done her job and could do no more. The men would be in good hands with Thamina.

After bidding Archet's medics farewell, Talaitha exited the healing house to find Szélvész surrounded by a group of children. To the mare’s delight, they were braiding her mane and tail and feeding her apples. Talaitha laughed. The usually spirited horse was happily basking in the attention and rewarding the children with the occasional nuzzle. Despite her distrust of strangers, Szélvész was always gentle with little ones.

Talaitha grinned. "Spoiling my horse, are you?" The children giggled and proudly showed her Szélvész's new braids. "Those are very pretty,” she complimented, “but I'm afraid I'm going to need her back now."

The children voiced their disappointment but relinquished Szélvész, who snorted when Talaitha swung onto her back.

"Hush, you," she scolded her lightly.

With a gentle nudge to her flanks, the mare broke into a gallop, heading east. Talaitha was confident they would reach Rivendell by tomorrow evening, if they avoided the more populated roads and arced over the Weather Hills. Progress would be quick, for Szélvész was unusually swift for such a small horse. She even kept pace with the wild mearas, the fastest horses in Middle-earth. But that was no surprise to Talaitha. Szélvész, whose name meant “windstorm”, was closely related to the mearas.

As they rode on, Talaitha's thoughts settled on Thorin's Company. She wondered where they were now and how Bilbo was handling being away from the comforts of Bag End. She smirked, imagining how disgruntled he must have been when forced to ride a pony. The hobbits had ponies, of course, but they preferred to walk whenever possible. Talaitha had never understood why, for she’d never felt freer than when she was astride Szélvész, with her hair wild and trailing in the breeze.

On that thought, she tightened her grip on the horse’s mane and watched the Weather Hills pass by in a blur.

#

Bilbo was indeed struggling with his pony. After Fíli and Kíli had hoisted him up onto the animal, he had been startled by every movement she made and had sneezed from the horse hair. To make matters worse, he'd forgotten his handkerchief at home. Bofur, ever the helpful dwarf, had torn a section from the bottom of his tunic and tossed it to Bilbo, who stared at the coarse fabric in poorly veiled distaste. In the end, however, the sneezing became too much, and the hobbit was forced to use the makeshift handkerchief.

Thorin was in a predicament of his own. A clean, floral scent--lilac perhaps--lingered on his coat, making it impossible for him to forget Talaitha. And to his surprise, he found the aroma pleasing. He nearly smirked as he wondered what his dwarves would think should they, too, notice he smelled of flowers. Fíli and Kíli might jest about it, but the rest would remain silent out of respect. After all, not even his impertinent nephews had mentioned Thorin's uncharacteristically kind gesture, though he was sure they had all seen Talaitha wrapped in his coat in the morning.

"Aren't we stopping for lunch?"

Bilbo's question pulled Thorin from his reverie, and he scowled. He knew he would regret agreeing to the hobbit's inclusion. He let Gandalf answer Bilbo. His reply would not have been very polite anyway.

Thorin heard two ponies trotting up behind him to join the hobbit and wizard.

"So, how long have you known Talaitha?" Fíli asked Bilbo.

"Seven years." The reply sounded flat even to the hobbit’s own ears. He was still lamenting missing lunch, and he was slightly cross that Talaitha had abandoned him on the quest.

The smirk could be heard in Kíli's voice, as he said, "That's long enough to find out quite a bit about her." He paused for effect. "Such as where she's from."

That piqued Thorin's interest. He was just as curious about Talaitha's ancestry as his nephews were, but his pride would not allow him to question Bilbo or Gandalf. It was enough that he had given her his coat for the night; he was not going to jeopardize the respect of his kin by confessing his intrigue.

"If she hasn't told you herself, _I_ certainly won't," Bilbo said primly.

"But how can she tell us that when we probably won't see her again?" Fíli asked, and Kíli nodded his agreement.

Bilbo shrugged. "You might. Before I left, she told me we would meet again soon." He looked curiously at Gandalf, but the wizard did not appear to notice. Thorin, too, glanced at Gandalf and was similarly ignored.

Kíli chuckled. "What, you think she'll turn up in Erebor?" Sarcasm tinged his voice, but Bilbo took the question seriously.

"I wouldn't be surprised," the hobbit answered. "She's traveled all over Middle-earth. What's to stop her from coming to Erebor?"

"A dragon, Master Baggins," Thorin said brusquely. "As well as a complete lack of purpose."

He had grown weary of the conversation once he’d realized that the hobbit would not divulge Talaitha's race. He was also irritated that his thoughts consistently strayed to her. It was uncharacteristic and foolish behavior. He should be focusing on more important things, like defeating Smaug and reclaiming Erebor, instead of on a foreign woman he would probably never see again.

Gandalf ducked his head to conceal his grin. Bilbo saw it but said nothing. It seemed Talaitha and the wizard had made plans, and out of respect for his friend, he would remain quiet. He just hoped that when they were revealed, the already cantankerous dwarf king would not be too angry.


	6. Elflings and Poetry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No Thorin in this chapter. Just Talaitha, Elrond, and elflings.

On the morning of the second day, the heavens let loose such a deluge that Talaitha was sure she and Szélvész would be swimming to Rivendell. The mud squelched under the mare's hooves, splattering on her coat as she galloped towards the Hoarwell River. Talaitha's leather dress protected her body from the rain, but her hair was soaked and clinging to her face. No matter how many times she had peeled away the wet strands, the wind whipped them back. In the end, she resigned herself to looking like some kind of drowned, ginger creature.

By the time they crossed the Bruinen, the rain had stopped. Talaitha slouched forward, relieved, as Szélvész descended into the valley in which Rivendell was nestled. She was quite familiar with the elvish city. It was a second home to her, for she had spent many years there under the instruction of Lord Elrond, whose healing talents were nearly identical to her own.

Glancing into the trees, Talaitha knew that scouts had already alerted Elrond to her arrival. Her conjecture was confirmed when she glimpsed the elf waiting for her in a courtyard. Szélvész whinnied a greeting and trotted over to him.

"That traitorous mare is happier to see you than she ever is me," muttered Talaitha. As if to prove her mistress' point, Szélvész ignored her and nudged Elrond's hand instead.

The elf’s sharp brow arched in amusement. “Elves have a natural affinity with all creatures,” he said, stroking Szélvész’s forehead, “but particularly with horses.” He helped Talaitha to dismount, then regarded her with a serious expression. “I was not expecting to see you again so soon. Is something amiss?”

“Not at all. I may look bedraggled, but I am quite well,” she assured him, with a smile. “It’s the rain’s fault.”

Elrond briefly returned her smile and motioned for an elf to unload her leather packs. Szélvész was led to the stables, where she would be bathed and fed. From the willingness with which she followed the groom, Talaitha could hardly believe that the mare had once been wild.

Talaitha also bathed. As a traveling healer, there were few opportunities for such comforts, so she was grateful when they were offered to her. And Rivendell certainly had no shortage of luxuries, she mused, as she immersed herself into the sunken bathtub.

Crystal bottles of scented hair and body soaps lined the edge. Smiling sadly, she chose lilac, because it reminded her of home. The longer she was away, the more her heart yearned to return. It was partly why she spent so much time in Rivendell. With its advanced healing arts, the elvish city reminded Talaitha of home, and she had found a rare, kindred spirit in Lord Elrond.

After soaking in the bath water for nearly an hour, Talaitha dressed in a simple cream-colored gown with a green overlay and headed to the library. More often than not, that was where Elrond could be found, poring over books on all subjects. Today was no exception.

"You are predictable," Talaitha said dryly. She glanced at the page Elrond was reading, but it was not in a language she knew. It looked to be a form of elvish, Quenya, most likely.

Elrond raised an eyebrow, as he was apt to do when interacting with Talaitha.

"After thousands of years, would I really be anything else?"

“Wise, perhaps a little weary of Middle-earth…,” Talaitha circled the library, thinking, “and as kind as summer," she declared. "Though I suspect that last attribute was always true."

Elrond smiled at her candor. For better or worse, Talaitha rarely kept her thoughts secret. Some, like Thranduil of the Greenwood, believed a female should not state her opinions so bluntly. But others, like Elrond and Gandalf, valued her honesty, even if it occasionally resulted in wounded pride.

"Your silver tongue is ever present," Elrond remarked. Talaitha merely grinned in reply and selected a book from the shelf. "You came from the Shire?"

She nodded. "Originally, yes, but I stopped in Archet along the way to treat two snakebite victims."

"Do the healers not have an antidote for the venom?" asked Elrond, sitting on the bench across from Talaitha's.

The book in her lap snapped shut. "That's the troubling part. Archet's antivenom is quite effective, and anyone who ventures into the Midgewater Marshes takes along a phial of it." Talaitha's eyebrows furrowed, a frown tugging at her lips. "But the men I treated didn't take any. They were dying."

Elrond understood her unease. As a healer, Talaitha had, of course, witnessed death and dying countless times. But when they were caused by sheer carelessness, that was a healer's bane.

"It is natural to feel as you do," he reassured her. "You fulfilled your obligation to them, but now they are no longer your responsibility."

“Yes, but I still don’t understand why they didn’t have the antivenom with them.”

“And you likely never will,” said Elrond, a smile threatening to form. “Distract your thoughts with that book instead.”

She flashed him a mock-glare, then followed his suggestion. The book told the story of Manwë, the benevolent Vala who commanded the air itself. She settled into the cushions and allowed herself to journey to Mount Taniquetil, if only in her imagination.

They hadn't been reading for long, when the library doors opened and a group of elflings rushed inside.

"We saw Szélvész in the stables,” announced an elf girl, “so we knew you would be in here.”

"Tell us a story!" said a boy. He was joined by the others in a chorus of _pleases_ and _yeses_.

Talaitha shared an amused glance with Elrond, but acquiesced.

"Gather 'round, and I'll tell you one of my favorites."

The children grinned and sat down on the benches. Five elflings managed to fit themselves onto Talaitha's bench, causing her to laugh and pull the youngest into her lap.

“A long, long time ago,” she began, “the fourteen Valar created Arda, our world. But that Middle-earth was quite different from the one we know today, because it was full of light, goodness, and love. It looked different, too. Mount Taniquetil stretched towards the heavens and was home to the king of the Valar, Manwë.”

The older children, who were familiar with the tale, nodded, while the younger elflings listened raptly.

“Although he commanded the air and all its creatures, Manwë was a fair and kind king. He wasn't concerned with how much power he wielded. To him, it was more important that those who needed his help received it, and that was why he was so beloved.

“But his brother, Melkor, was just the opposite. He was the first and most powerful Vala, and he used his wisdom and influence for evil. You see, unlike the other Valar, Melkor had visited the Void, the great Nothing, the uninhabited places outside Arda. He was envious of Ilúvatar's ability to create life, so he vowed to steal the Flame Imperishable. It was this that provided the raw energy which Ilúvatar used to create life. Melkor wanted to fashion his own world, with his own creatures, in the Void.”

Talaitha paused to assess her audience. The elf girl in her lap squirmed and looked at her, her gaze questioning why the story had stopped. Some of the older children, though, were concentrating; she suspected they were trying to remember what they had learned about the Void. With a tickle to the elfling's ribs that earned her a giggle, Talaitha continued.

“Fortunately, Melkor could not find the Flame Imperishable, because it was always with Ilúvatar. So he tried a different tactic. Three times he disrupted the songs the Valar sang, songs that were created by Ilúvatar and thus could only be altered by Him. Eru rebuked Melkor, who was furious but pretended to have reformed so that he could be trusted enough to interact with and eventually dominate the elves and men.”

A few startled gasps slipped past the younger children's lips.

"But surely Eru will stop him!" exclaimed an elf boy.

" _No_ , Manwë will stop him," insisted another.

Talaitha smiled. "Hush," she chided. "You shall give away the story."

“It was indeed Manwë who thwarted his brother,” she said, earning a triumphant grin from the child who had suggested it, “for a while, at least. Though he did not understand Melkor's evil ways, he knew his brother was up to no good. So he called on the other Valar to help protect the elves and men, and it seemed that Melkor had yielded. The eldest Vala traveled far away and was unheard of for many, many years.

“But Melkor was a clever one. He did not sitting idly during his absence. He grew stronger and had acquired spies among the Maiar, so he knew the Valar's every step. He finally attacked but was driven away by Tulkas, the Vala of war. For now, it seemed that Arda was at peace.”

"Melkor would not give up so easily," said one of the boys.

"You're quite right," Talaitha agreed. "But Melkor wanted his kin to believe he had. That way, they would ignore him long enough for him to become even stronger."

The girl in Talaitha’s lap pouted. "I do not like Melkor.”

"That is a very wise decision,” said Elrond. His tone was solemn, but the indulgent smile he bestowed upon the child betrayed his gravity.

The children giggled, then refocused their attention on Talaitha.

“After gathering more allies, Melkor struck again, but this time when everyone was asleep. He burrowed into the earth, building a terrible fortress that turned the surrounding lands into evil, decaying places. The Valar immediately knew that Melkor was responsible. Yet before they could stop him, Melkor destroyed the two lamps that kept Arda in balance, and the resulting fires and waters nearly destroyed the world. The Valar could do little to punish Melkor, for all their power went into keeping the world whole.”

"How can the Valar hold Arda together?" asked one of the older elflings.

"Well, each Vala has his or her own special ability," Talaitha explained. "Manwë, for example, controls the air, so he made sure it remained clean of smoke and toxic fumes. Tulkas probably stopped the animals and people from killing each other, and Ulmo may have prevented the waters from drowning the earth."

She paused and glanced at Elrond for confirmation.

He nodded. "It is true," he affirmed. "With their individual powers combined, the Valar could have created Arda if they had had the Flame Imperishable. Therefore, they were able to save their domains, which in turn saved Arda."

"So the world was saved?" the little girl in Talaitha’s lap asked.

"Yes, it was," Talaitha said, with a smile. "And Melkor was punished."

“The Valar managed to destroy Melkor's evil fortress and banished him to the Halls of Mandos, where he remained for three ages, until he was presented to his brother again. Because Manwë was good and pure, he took pity on Melkor, releasing him but placing him under constant watch. Yet even then, Melkor waged war on the Valar and the elves. He particularly hated Eärendil, who had killed Melkor's most powerful dragon.”

Elrond's lips tugged upward in a small smile at the mention of his father. Talaitha met his gaze for an instant, grinned, then finished her story.

“In the end, it was Manwë who put a stop to his brother's terror upon Middle-earth. He cast Melkor into the Void, where he still resides and will reside for as long as the Valar protect the world.”

"So if the Valar leave, will Melkor come back?" inquired an elf boy.

Talaitha nodded grimly. "A prophecy states that one day, he will return to seek vengeance on the Valar and their allies." Troubled expressions settled on the children's faces, causing Talaitha to smile gently. "Yet even then there is hope, for the prophecy also says that a human man will defeat him for good."

The elf girl sitting beside Elrond looked up at him and asked, "Were you there when Melkor was sent to the Void?"

Talaitha swallowed her laugh as Elrond's eyebrow lifted in amusement. "I am not _that_ old," he replied, with the barest of smiles. "Now, I think it is time you returned to your parents."

When it was just her and Elrond in the library again, Talaitha allowed herself to giggle. Children asked the most candid questions yet in such an innocent manner. They feigned no pretenses, and in a world in which deception was rampant, that was comforting.

"What's that you're reading?" she finally asked him.

"It is a book of Quenya poetry," Elrond replied. "It was Celebrían's favorite." Sadness briefly flashed in his gray eyes.

Her heart warmed. He rarely spoke of his wife, who had sailed to Valinor after being captured and tortured by orcs. Talaitha knew elves loved but once in their long lives, so for him to be separated from her must be painful indeed.

"Would you read them aloud?" she asked softly, hesitantly.

Elrond raised his brows. "I did not think you understood Quenya."

"I don't, but I nevertheless appreciate its beauty in poetry," she replied. She fiddled with the laces of her dress. "Unless you wish to read them privately."

"If I wished that, I would have chosen another location to read in," he reassured her.

Talaitha grinned as he began to read, and she allowed herself to fully engage in the poems. Though she did not understand the words, she grasped the basic theme of each poem from Elrond's tone and inflection.

They spent hours with the book, discussing the poems after Elrond translated them, pausing only for dinner. During the meal, Talaitha's thoughts returned to the dwarves. They should have arrived in Rivendell by now.

Nibbling absently on an apple, she racked her memory for any potential threat that could have waylaid them. There were bears and wolves in the wild, but she was certain they posed little danger to the battle-hardened dwarves. The trolls resided north in the Ettenmoors, and orcs did not venture into that part of Middle-earth. Besides, Talaitha had traversed nearby terrain and had encountered nothing sinister. It was more likely that the storm had delayed them.

Reassured, she ate her meal with more enthusiasm than before, and even contributed to the elves' conversations in Sindarin.

Elrond, however, knew there was something Talaitha was not telling him. And he suspected it involved Gandalf, as secret things usually did.


	7. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the chapter title suggests, Talaitha is reunited with the Company. Also, check out "Soul Healing Images" for pictures of various people and things in the chapters.

The next morning, there was still no news of the Company, and Talaitha was growing concerned. Had Thorin learned of Gandalf's plans and refused to come to Rivendell? Or had some ill fate actually befallen them?

The sound of hooves on stone, followed by an urgent tone of voice, wrenched Talaitha from her anxious thoughts. She moved to her balcony to listen as an elf scout told Lord Elrond that a band of orcs had been spotted on the plains outside Rivendell. When Elrond ordered a group of mounted warriors to assemble in the largest courtyard, Talaitha swapped her green gown for black leather breeches, a white blouse, and a brown leather corset that doubled as light armor. She strapped on the leather baldric that held her sword, bow, and quiver of arrows while jogging down to the stables to fetch Szélvész.

A few elves had already gathered, but many were still in the process of donning armor and saddling horses. Talaitha could not imagine being weighed down by all that leather and metal. If she were to wear that much armor, it would hinder her movements and reduce her speed, the latter of which she relied upon heavily during fights. Though she was physically weaker than most of her opponents, she was also smaller and quicker, allowing her to evade them until she spotted an opening, or until they grew careless. It might not be the most courageous tactic, but it had served her well.

Elrond entered the courtyard, clad in glittering, brown armor and a simple, silver circlet. He arched a brow when he saw Talaitha but did not question her presence there. He knew he could not dissuade her from her decision once she had set her mind to it.

Talaitha was grateful he didn't try, for she would not have been able to lie to him. In reality, she was accompanying the warriors in the hopes of discovering if the orcs were responsible for waylaying the Company. Chances were slim that she would learn anything, but her concern for her friends, especially for Bilbo, prevented her from sitting idly.

She pulled herself onto Szélvész's back and spurred her forward with the rest of the warriors, who seemed only mildly surprised to be riding into battle alongside a woman. After all, most of them knew and respected her as the wandering healer.

When the cavalry rode up out of the valley, the guttural shouts of the orcs mixed eerily with the howls of the wargs. Talaitha tensed, her grip on Szélvész's mane tightening so that her knuckles turned white. Now that she had glimpsed the horrible creatures, she wondered just how wise her decision had been. Szélvész thrashed her head and whinnied, no doubt sensing her rider's misgivings. But the mare galloped fearlessly forward.

Elrond glanced back at Talaitha, and she tried to feign a reassuring smile. She failed. The half-elf flashed her a look that seemed to say _it's too late now,_ but then his expression softened, and he nodded at her encouragingly. That was all she needed to buck up her courage. When Elrond unsheathed his curved blade, she drew her bow and fired at the nearest warg. It went down, crushing its rider in the process, with two arrows embedded in its neck. Szélvész trampled the warg's head for good measure, and Talaitha had the sneaking suspicion that the mare was enjoying herself. Elrond spared her a grim smile, before slicing off an orc's head and bringing his sword down on the warg's skull.

#

Meanwhile, hidden in a large ditch behind a pile of boulders, the Company listened to the fight above, unaware of what was happening. A dead orc slid into the subterranean opening, an arrow protruding from its chest. Thorin retrieved the arrow and examined the tip.

"Elves," he spat, glaring up at Gandalf. The wizard met the dwarf's gaze but offered him no reply.

"I cannot see where the pathway leads," said Dwalin, who had scouted ahead. "Do we follow it or no?"

"Follow it, of course!" Bofur shouted back.

"I think that would be wise," Gandalf murmured, falling in line behind the dwarves.

They traversed the path and discovered that it was actually a narrow ravine. The farther they walked, the wider it became, until it opened up onto a rocky outcropping. The dwarves were stunned by what they saw. Bilbo was similarly awestruck, but, unlike the dwarves, he recognized the wonder of what he gazed upon.

Gandalf came forward. "The valley of Imladris," he announced, with a small smile. "In the Common Tongue, it's known by another name."

"Rivendell," breathed Bilbo.

Gandalf nodded. "Here lies the last Homely House east of the sea."

Thorin turned on the wizard. "This was your plan all along," he accused him, his tone quietly livid. "To seek refuge with our enemy."

"You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield. The only ill will to be found in this valley is that which you bring yourself," Gandalf admonished him sharply.

But Thorin would not be deterred. "Do you think the elves will give our quest their blessing? They will try to stop us."

"Of course they will," Gandalf agreed. "But we have questions that need to be answered."

A pained expression crossed Thorin's face as he averted his gaze, but he argued no further. It seemed that he would once again do as the wizard bade.

Gandalf took the silence as Thorin's acquiescence and continued.

"If we are to be successful, this will need to be handled with tact. And respect. And no small degree of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking to me."

Thorin looked like he wanted to snarl at Gandalf, but he restrained himself. He did, however, descend into the valley with a fierce glower. And when Kíli asked him why no elves had confronted them yet, he snapped a curse in reply. After that, only Balin and Dwalin dared to speak to him.

When they reached a circular courtyard, an elf in a wine-colored tunic descended the steps.

"Mithrandir," he said and extended his arm in the traditional elvish greeting.

Gandalf turned and smiled. "Lindir."

Lindir said something in Elvish, to which Gandalf replied, his expression grave, "I must speak with Lord Elrond."

"My Lord Elrond is not here."

"Not here?" Gandalf asked, with a hint of suspicion coloring his tone. "Where is he?"

A horn sounded in the distance, signaling the imminent arrival of the lord of Rivendell. Gandalf raised his eyebrows at Lindir in amusement.

But when he saw Elrond leading a small group of warriors across the bridge, his humor became alarm. Thorin ordered the dwarves to close ranks, and they formed a tight circle, with Bilbo in the center. Gandalf's frown morphed into a smirk as he spotted Talaitha amongst the elves. Of course she would ride out with them.

Talaitha flashed the wizard a grin, but it faded the instant she glimpsed who the elves were surrounding. She guided Szélvész to stand beside Lindir, refusing to corral the dwarves. Her gaze met Thorin's. Surprise was evident in his features, but so was distrust. Talaitha supposed he had good reason to feel the latter emotion; she _had_ ridden in with the elves, after all.

Bilbo, however, sighed in relief when he saw her.

"Gandalf!" Elrond exclaimed, smiling.

"Lord Elrond," the wizard replied respectfully.

"Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders," the elf remarked, dismounting and greeting Gandalf with a brief embrace. He handed an orc blade to Lindir. "Something or some _one_ has drawn them near."

"Ah, that may have been us," said Gandalf guiltily.

Elrond glanced at Talaitha with a knowing twinkle in his eyes, before meeting the approaching dwarf.

"Welcome, Thorin, son of Thráin."

"I do not believe we have met," Thorin replied dryly.

"You have your grandfather's bearing," Elrond explained. "I knew Thrór when he ruled under the mountain."

"Indeed? He made no mention of you."

Talaitha clenched her jaw. Thorin was intent on being as stubborn and uncivil as possible, without actually provoking the elves. _Foolish dwarf._

Elrond smiled playfully as he spoke to the dwarves in Elvish. Thinking they had been offended, they erupted into an angry chorus, their Khuzdul words surely interspersed with threats. Glóin was particularly vocal.

Talaitha giggled, but then she sobered and cleared her throat when Thorin glared at her.

Gandalf finally intervened. "Master Glóin, he is offering you food."

"Ah," murmured Glóin, suddenly placated. "Well, in that case, lead on."

Talaitha smirked. Trust dwarves to cool their hot heads if food or drink was involved. After exchanging a few words with Bilbo, she led Szélvész to the stables. She did not notice that Thorin had broken off from the group to follow her.

"You ride with neither reins nor a saddle," Thorin observed, startling Talaitha.

She glanced at him as she fed Szélvész a handful of oats. The mare snorted a greeting to Thorin and nuzzled Talaitha's cheek, smearing it with wet oats. Talaitha did not seem to mind; she even laughed while she wiped her cheek clean.

"They are a cumbersome burden," she replied," and I doubt Szélvész would consent to them anyway." Talaitha smiled wryly as she brushed down the mare. "She may not be as wild as when I met her, but she is by no means a tame horse."

Thorin picked up a brush and moved it in circles across Szélvész's flank. She swatted his hand with her tail, but her nicker softened the sting. He never thought he would be teased by a horse. His initial reaction was one of irritation, but he stifled it and instead allowed a small smile to form on his lips.

Talaitha grinned, feeding Szélvész a second handful of oats as thanks for drawing the dwarf out of his brooding. Unfortunately, his pleasant mood was short-lived.

"I am surprised to see you here." His tone was guarded, almost accusatory.

"I'm well-acquainted with Lord Elrond. Over the years, I have spent much time in Rivendell," she replied simply. It was the truth, even if not the whole-truth.

Thorin's features darkened. "So much time apparently that you speak Elvish."

"Indeed. I thought it would be prudent to learn, since many books and texts are only in Sindarin," she said, her tone light in contrast to Thorin's. "I learned a bit of Khuzdul, as well, you know."

That surprised Thorin, but he ignored it for now.

"You slew those orcs?"

Szélvész nudged Talaitha, who instinctively raised a hand to stroke her neck and withers.

"Some of them, yes."

She watched the elves exit the stables, leaving just her, Thorin, and Szélvész, who was more concerned with chomping on hay than with the dwarf.

Thorin walked around the mare to stand in front of Talaitha. His gaze roved over her clothing, which once again baffled him. Breeches were one thing, but the brown, leather garment covering her blouse was too form-fitting to be armor, at least not any armor _he_ had seen before. Thorin admitted that it accentuated her figure alluringly, and his attention consequently lingered on her hips and waist.

If Talaitha noticed his scrutiny, she showed no sign of it.

His glance swept up to her face, and he almost smiled when he saw that her copper hair was pulled into a double braid. Although the hairstyle was simple by dwarvish standards, it nevertheless reminded him of home. Were braids as symbolic in her culture as they were in his?, he wondered.

Finally, Talaitha looked at him, offering him a small smile.

"I am glad to see you are all unharmed," she said softly. "I was worried when you didn't arrive this morning."

Thorin's gaze hardened. "You were expecting us. You, the hobbit, and the wizard planned this," he spat. "Why? What purpose do you have in this quest?"

Szélvész's ears flattened in response to Thorin's hostility, but Talaitha placed a calming hand on her withers. The mare eyed Thorin warily, then lowered her head to the hay once more.

"Bilbo is innocent in this, as you will soon learn," Talaitha replied. "But now is not the time to explain. Come, I will show you to your quarters."

She walked out of the stables and up the stairs. After half a moment's hesitation, Thorin followed, but he was scowling again. His control of his own quest was slipping. First, Gandalf had forced him to accept the hobbit, who had yet to live up to his title as burglar. Then, the wizard had tricked them into coming to Rivendell. And now, Talaitha--a _woman_ \--was dictating when he would learn of her involvement in _his_ quest. He cringed as he imagined how ashamed his father and grandfather would be of him. Yet there was little he could do. He needed Gandalf's aid, and Elrond's, too, though he would never admit that aloud.

And as for Talaitha... She continued to intrigue him, despite, or perhaps because of, her secrets.

"Each dwarf has his own chambers," Talaitha said, opening the door to his room. She glanced at him, at the dirt on his face and hands, and tried to hide a grin. "There's a bath and wash basin through there," she said and indicated the adjoining room, "if you want to clean up."

Thorin knew he looked and smelled terrible, but she tactfully let the matter drop.

"A meal will be served shortly. The elves can point you in the right direction."

He wanted to ask her if she would be at the meal, too, but before he could chide himself for such foolishness, she was already gone. He swallowed his pride and strode into the bathing room, glad to finally rid himself of the stench of troll.


	8. A Fine Day for a Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talaitha duels with the dwarves and gains their acceptance.

Talaitha adjusted her silver circlet as she walked up the steps to the balcony. The dwarves were seated at a long table, dubiously eyeing the assorted foods and grumbling about the absence of meat. Bilbo rolled his eyes.

When she neared the group, Kíli waved her over. "Fancy meeting you here," he greeted her, with a cheeky grin.

"It is dinner time, is it not?" she asked innocently.

"I mean here in Rivendell," he clarified and touched the flowing sleeve of her midnight-blue, velvet gown. "It's a shame you're not wearing that fetching dress from Bag End."

Talaitha pulled her arm out of his reach. "Well, one must blend in."

"With elves?" Kíli inquired, raising a skeptical brow. Then he glimpsed her pointed ears and grinned again. "But I guess that's not hard for you, considering you look like a miniature elf. Is that a race I don't know about--miniature elves?"

"Who are you calling miniature?" she quipped. "Have you stood next to an elf lately?"

Kíli's indignant reply was cut short, however, when Elrond and Gandalf guided her towards a smaller table with four chairs. Thorin joined them soon after. Talaitha felt the dwarf's gaze on her, and she ducked her head to hide the faint blush that crept into her cheeks.

"You are a sight for sore eyes, my dear," said Gandalf warmly.

"You wouldn't say that had you seen me when I arrived." She flashed him a wry smile. "The rain, I fear, had wreaked a bit of havoc."

Gandalf chuckled. "Yes, we ran afoul of it, too."

"You ran afoul of orcs, as well," she remarked and adjusted the napkin in her lap. A silver glint of light caught Talaitha's eye, drawing her attention to the curved sword that hung from Thorin's hip. "That is a beautiful blade."

Thorin glanced sharply at her, his irritation flaring. Her comment had piqued Elrond's curiosity, and the last thing he needed was the elf's questions about how a dwarf had acquired an elvish weapon. Yet when he looked at Talaitha, he realized she could not have known the full extent of his aversion for elves. So, with a grit of his teeth, he handed the sword to Elrond.

After a moment of inspection, the elf said, "This is Orcrist, the Goblin-Cleaver. It is a famous blade forged by the high elves of the West, my kin. May it serve you well." He passed Orcrist back to Thorin, who accepted it with a nod of thanks.

Gandalf offered Elrond the blade that he had discovered.

"And this is Glamdring, the Foe-Hammer, sword of the king of Gondolin." There was a hint of reverence in the elf lord's voice. "These swords were made for the goblin wars of the First Age."

Talaitha stared at the two blades in awe. As an adolescent, she had read about Glamdring and Orcrist, believing, as everyone had, that they'd been lost after the goblin wars. To actually see them in person, gleaming as though they were newly forged, sent a thrill of excitement through her.

Thorin watched Talaitha out of the corner of his eye, saw her enthusiasm when the elf identified the swords, and he nearly smiled. She wore her emotions on her face. If it were anyone else, he would scorn them for displaying such a weakness, but he could not bring himself to do so with Talaitha. Rather, he found that he appreciated the trait in her. 

"How did you come by these?" asked Elrond.

"We found them in a troll hoard on the Great East Road, shortly before we were ambushed by orcs," Gandalf explained.

Talaitha's head snapped up. A forkful of lettuce hovered just shy of her mouth.

"A troll hoard?"

Gandalf glanced at her, then Elrond asked, "And what were you doing on the Great East Road?"

From his tone, it sounded like he already knew the answer. He was, after all, quite familiar with the gray wizard's mischievous ways.

"Perhaps that's best divulged tonight," Gandalf hedged, finally acknowledging Thorin's glower.

Elrond looked pointedly at Talaitha, one eyebrow lifted in amusement. She avoided his gaze and ate a large forkful of salad to keep her mouth occupied on the act of chewing, rather than on the act of spilling secrets.

#

After dinner, Talaitha joined Bilbo on a bench beneath an ash tree. Orange leaves, dislodged by the autumnal breeze, fell idly by their feet. On the other side of the grassy pavilion, the dwarves were sprawled out in a garden, and Gandalf and Thorin stood beside a column, engaged in what appeared to be a serious conversation.

"So, tell me about your run-in with the trolls," Talaitha prompted Bilbo.

The hobbit looked surprised. "How did you know we encountered trolls?"

"It took you an extra day to arrive in Rivendell, and Gandalf mentioned a troll hoard. I just put two and two together," she said, shrugging.

"Well, Fíli and Kíli were _supposed_ to be watching the ponies, but the trolls stole four of them anyway," Bilbo recounted testily. "They made me sneak into the trolls' camp to steal them back, and I got caught."

Talaitha glanced at the Durin brothers. Kíli was laughing with Bofur, while Fíli indulged them with a small smile. It was in moments like these when it was clear that Fíli was Thorin's heir. He carried himself more regally than did Kíli, who was still very boyish.

"Are you even listening?" Bilbo complained.

Talaitha offered him a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Go on."

"As I was saying, I got caught while trying to free the ponies, but the dwarves charged the trolls and put up a good fight. In the end, though, they were captured, too, and stuffed into burlap sacks. They would've been eaten had Gandalf not shown up in the nick of time."

"I bet _that's_ an experience our surly dwarf king wishes he could forget," said Talaitha, giggling. She imagined Thorin's livid face, peeking out from the top of the sack, and laughed harder.

"Actually, Thorin wasn't even the worst," Bilbo said. "The trolls were about to eat the dwarves, so I suggested to them that they were unfit for consumption because they had parasites. But Kíli got offended, and he was so emphatic in his protests that he nearly doomed us all."

Talaitha's eyes widened in alarm. "And where was Gandalf during all of this?"

"He'd stormed off somewhere after an argument with Thorin," Bilbo replied. "But he returned close to dawn and split a boulder in two so that the rising sun could shine through and turn the trolls to stone."

"I've never seen a troll before," Talaitha mused aloud.

"They're nasty creatures," spat Bilbo, with a grimace. "And they stink worse than anything I've ever smelled."

She grinned. "Yes, I caught a whiff of them when you all arrived." Then she sobered, all traces of humor vanishing from her face. Something troubled Talaitha about Bilbo's story, and it wasn't that the Company had almost become troll breakfast. "Were you near the Ettenmoors?"

"Not according to Gandalf. We stayed on the East-West road and had just crossed the bridge over the Hoarwell River."

Talaitha tried to hide her concern from Bilbo. He was probably uncomfortable enough traveling with thirteen dwarves; he did not need another thing to worry about.

As if reading her thoughts, the hobbit said, "I don't know why I let you talk me into this quest. Do you know what it's like to be used as a troll's handkerchief?"

Talaitha snorted with laughter, despite Bilbo's withering stare.

"Thankfully, I do not," she replied. "And, as for the adventure, you were going to agree anyway. I just hastened the decision."

"Perhaps," Bilbo conceded, "but I'd be happier if you came along. At least then there would be someone to talk to."

"I _am_ coming along," she assured him, smiling. "Well, if Thorin lets me."

"If I let you what?" asked the dwarf king, as he and Gandalf rounded the bench.

Talaitha glanced warily at Gandalf, but the wizard looked more entertained than concerned. She took a deep breath and stood, facing Thorin.

"If you will let me join your Company."

"No," he said, without hesitation.

"Why not?"

"Because the quest is perilous."

" _No_ , what you mean is that I'm a woman, and therefore I cannot be of any use to you," she retorted.

The dwarves gathered closer to watch the brewing disagreement, curious how their leader would react to Talaitha. He had seemed to like her well enough in Hobbiton, but she was now questioning his authority.

Thorin considered her words, and then said, "In the present circumstances? No."

Talaitha took a step towards him and gazed up at him defiantly.

"How can you possibly know a person's merits if you don't give her a chance to show you them?"

Thorin closed the distance between them, towering over her. If he expected her to shrink away, he was sorely disappointed, for she met his glare with one of her own.

"I don't even know _who_ you are," he growled.

This time, she did step back, but not because he had intimidated her. She glanced at Gandalf, her troubled gaze reflecting an unspoken question. He nodded, and she turned back to Thorin.

"I am Talaitha Borvirág, daughter of Emese Selyem and Tardos Acél," she said flatly, as though she were reciting a well-practiced speech. "I come from Nemere, though you may know it as the Evergreen Plain."

"Well, bless me," Bofur murmured, "she's a fairy."

Talaitha nodded. "We call ourselves the szelemér."

The dwarves gawked at her. Few of her kind roamed Middle-earth, so whenever she revealed her race to its inhabitants, she was almost always met with astonishment. Fíli and Kíli, however, seemed to have taken her admission in stride, and the younger brother even threw her a cheeky grin.

"And what is a fairy doing so far from home?" Thorin asked suspiciously.

"I'm a traveling healer." Her tone was sharp, as if daring him to find fault with her answer.

"And a very skilled one, too," Gandalf added cheerfully.

His comment had the desired effect. The tension that had been steadily building throughout Thorin and Talaitha's conversation was diffused. Both parties glanced at him. They had forgotten he or anyone else was present in the courtyard.

"Óin is our healer," Thorin calmly explained.

"Yes, I know," Talaitha said, "but you have an army of orcs behind you and a dragon ahead of you. Surely two healers are better than one."

"That may be true," he conceded, to Talaitha's surprise. "But we already have one defenseless member in the Company. I will not permit another."

Bilbo harrumphed loudly beside Gandalf, who patted his shoulder in a conciliatory manner.

Talaitha grinned. "I am _hardly_ defenseless, Thorin Oakenshield. Allow me to demonstrate."

He stared at the fairy, at the velvet gown that hugged her soft curves. She certainly did not look like a woman who could defend herself, but, against his better judgment, Thorin decided to indulge her.

"Very well," he said dryly.

Talaitha swept up the hem of her dress and hurried up the stairs to her room. She changed into a blouse and breeches, grabbed her sword, and rejoined the dwarves in the pavilion.

Thorin's gaze was drawn to her blade, which was curved like his own. He suspected it, too, was of elvish make, though it was smaller and thinner than his. Perhaps it had been forged by the elves in a szelemér design.

"Owning a pretty blade is one thing, but can you use it?"

"Why don't you discover for yourself?" Talaitha challenged him.

Thorin's pale-blue eyes were hard as steel. "I will not fight a woman."

"Then how will you assess my skill?" she asked him. She twirled the blade gracefully, as if to beckon him. "Well, what'll it be, Thorin Durinson?"

In response, he nodded to Dwalin, who hesitated for an instant, before stepping forward to the center of the pavilion. The dwarves moved to the edge, while Bilbo looked up at Gandalf in concern.

"Dwalin's much bigger than she is," whispered the hobbit. He wrung his hands in worry and glanced at Talaitha. "And he's much stronger, too."

Gandalf smiled reassuringly. "That may be to her advantage."

Seeing Dwalin's reluctance to fight her, Talaitha attacked first, forcing him to raise his battle ax to protect himself. Their weapons met in a _clang_ that echoed through the valley, her hands tingling from the vibrations of the contact.

Dwalin used the ax's long handle as a makeshift staff to swipe at Talaitha, but she deftly evaded it. Twirling, she brought her leg up to kick the ax out of his hands, even though she knew it would not work. Nevertheless, it didn't hurt to show Thorin that she could hold her own without weapons, if the need arose.

The sparring match continued for many more minutes. Talaitha allowed Dwalin to get close, before she danced out of the way of the ax handle. It was only a matter of time until the dwarf's greater size and weight unbalanced him enough for Talaitha to seize her chance.

Finally, when Dwalin lunged forward to strike, Talaitha ducked beneath his arms and touched the flat of her blade to his neck. She had won, not through swordsmanship, but through evasion and quicker footwork.

"Not bad, lass," Dwalin complimented her gruffly. He lowered his arms to allow her to retreat.

Talaitha grinned triumphantly at Thorin, but he did not appear to be impressed. He nodded at Kíli, who drew his sword with a confident smirk.

"Are you ready, fairy?"

She was not, but she raised her blade anyway. Kíli had the advantage of having watched her spar with Dwalin, so he knew her fighting style. Talaitha, however, had to learn his quickly if she was to stand a chance.

Their swords touched in a clash of metal, jarring her once again. He was holding back, like Dwalin had been, or else that first encounter would have had her sprawled on the ground. Talaitha jumped to the left to slap Kíli's side, but he parried the strike and followed up with one of his own, not missing a beat. She barely avoided the flat of his blade.

"You're fast," she panted.

A shadow of a smirk tugged at his lips, and then a look of concentration reappeared on his face. They sparred even longer than she and Dwalin had, dancing out of the way of each other's weapons. Talaitha's tried-and-true method of evasion was not effective against Kíli. He was upon her almost immediately after each of her feints, until, finally, she reacted a second too slowly. Talaitha felt the light slap of steel against her arm. But the match was not over yet.

She changed her tactic, going on the offensive instead. Blow after blow fell upon Kíli's blade. Talaitha dropped into a crouch, braced her free hand on the ground, and kicked out her right leg in a sweeping arc that tripped the young dwarf. Before he could regain his footing, she stood and touched the tip of her sword to his neck.

This time, it was Talaitha's turn to smirk. "You fought well, dwarf."

Fíli snickered at his brother, who scowled as he rejoined the group.

"I won't fall for that again," he muttered.

Heavy footsteps behind her interrupted her response. Talaitha turned, coming face-to-face with Thorin, her eyes wide with surprise. She glanced at Orcrist, which was held out towards her, and winced. She had challenged him earlier, but now that the moment had arrived, she was nervous. If the stories were true, he had faced down the giant orc, Azog, with only an oak branch as defense.

Thorin must have sensed her trepidation, for his expression softened, and he lowered his sword. She smiled; his consideration for her feelings had sparked a flood of affection towards him. She raised her blade. His lips twitched in appreciation of her bravery, and he attacked. She blocked his thrust, pushing back with all her strength, but he stood firm, as she knew he would. Talaitha nevertheless felt a surge of pride when his brows rose at her uncharacteristically aggressive move.

They broke apart and circled each other, ice-blue gaze meeting yellowish-green. A tension slowly built in the pavilion. Some of the dwarves shifted uncomfortably. Gandalf hid a smile behind his staff, while Bilbo watched, slightly agape. He had seen Talaitha teach some of the intrepid hobbits, mostly Tooks and Brandybucks, how to fight, but she looked completely different now. Gone was the light-hearted woman, and, in her place, stood someone who resembled a warrior.

Thorin strode forward, changing the direction of his strike mid-swing. Talaitha barely managed to jump out of the way. He was on her nearly as quickly as Kíli had been, but he was also holding back less, giving her no time to counter his thrusts. She was forced to duck and evade, which would have been effective, except Thorin was learning her feints. Only her smaller form had saved her from the flat of his blade.

He flashed her a smug smirk after anticipating one of her dodges, filling her with irritation. Talaitha parried his next thrust, and then stopped thinking, allowing her training to take over. She caught Thorin off-guard when she blocked and reciprocated his strikes with practiced fluidity.

But even so, Thorin was by far the superior swordsman. Talaitha's defenses slipped, and her stomach clenched when she felt Orcrist's sharp point against her neck.

Thorin regarded her with an inscrutable expression as they panted from the exertion. Lowering his blade, he addressed Balin, without taking his gaze off Talaitha.

"Write up a contract for her."

The fairy rewarded Thorin with a triumphant grin. The dwarves surrounded her, wanting to know where she had learned to fight like that.

"It is not uncommon for szelemér women to be trained in combat. Our society views males and females as equals," Talaitha explained. "Thus, I learned archery and basic swordsmanship, among other things."

"What about those kicks and spins?" inquired Ori.

"Those are an aspect of _baranta_ , the traditional fighting style of the szelemér. It evolved during surprise raids, so that even if you were weaponless, you could still defend yourself."

"Your skills are many for one so young," Thorin remarked. Though his tone was light, he observed her intently.

"Thank you," she said, "but I fear your flattery is unwarranted, for my appearance is deceiving. I'm 177 years old."

Thorin hid his surprise well, unlike his nephews, who gaped at Talaitha.

"You're only twenty-four years Uncle's junior," said Kíli, "yet you look closer to _our_ age."

"Fairies live longer than dwarves," Talaitha said simply.

"Like elves?" Ori asked.

"No, not quite that long. We only live till about 1000," she replied, with a playful smile. "In our language, _szelemér_ means 'descendent', because we were created from the very first elves. According to ours myths, the Valar grew lazy while creating the elves, so half of them became the fairies."

She laughed at the mixture of expressions on the dwarves' faces. Some looked confused; others, like Thorin, seemed to understand her jest and were distinctly _un_ amused. Bilbo must have noticed, too, for he gave her a warm, comforting smile.

"Do fairies have the same abilities as elves?" Dori inquired.

"Yes and no," said Talaitha. "We're similar to elves and share many of the same attributes, just to a lesser degree. However, we don't possess their resistance to illness."

"And what of your skill for healing?" asked Óin.

"The szelemér have many great healers, partly because potent medicinal plants are abundant in Nemere. But each fairy has an ability that he or she is especially talented in." Talaitha glanced at Gandalf. "Some can wield elemental forces, like the weather mages. Others, such as my parents, have less magical though equally useful gifts."

A look of realization crossed Thorin's features. "Your last name signifies your strongest skill."

Talaitha raised her eyebrows in surprise, and then smiled at the dwarf.

"Yes, it's more of an epithet than a name, like Oakenshield is. In the Common Tongue, my second name is Borage, which is a healing herb."

"You mentioned your parents. What are their talents?" Bofur asked.

"My mother, Emese Selyem, is a seamstress who's famous for her silk gowns. _Selyem_ means 'silk' in Szila, our language." She felt a pang of homesickness as she remembered all the dresses her mother had sewn for her--dresses that, save for two, had been left behind in Nemere. "And my father, Tardos Acél, is a blacksmith, specializing in steel. In fact, he makes the swords for the royal family and its guard."

The dwarves murmured in approval, their respect for Talaitha growing considerably. As a race of smiths, they appreciated any skill that required the use of a forge.

"Did your father craft that?" asked Fíli, nodding towards her sword.

Talaitha unsheathed it again, the curved blade with its clipped tip glinting in the waning sunlight.

"No, he didn't. The elvish blacksmiths of Rivendell did, though it _is_ of traditional szelemér design." She smiled fondly as she recalled the day she had received the sword. "It was a gift from Lord Elrond."

While they'd been sparring, Thorin had not paid much attention to the weapon. But now he stared at it with furrowed brows. Talaitha seemed to guess his thoughts, because she handed him the sword.

It was light, far lighter than a weapon of its size should be.

"Mithril," he breathed in awe. His right hand tightened on the agate grip, while his left hand ghosted over the glittering, silver-colored blade. "This sword is forged from mithril."

Talaitha nodded. "If it were made of steel, I wouldn't be able to wield it." She took the sword from him and held it lovingly. The expression on her face caused Thorin's heartbeat to quicken, though he could not fathom why. "I've named it Ezüstlélek. It means Silversoul in Szila," she said, smiling wryly. Only Bilbo and Gandalf understood the significance behind the name.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in congenial conversation, and Talaitha found that she enjoyed the dwarves' company, especially now that they had begun to accept her as a traveling companion. Even Dwalin's demeanor had thawed towards her after their skirmish.

Thorin, however, still revealed no emotion, though he certainly felt himself stirring each time she teased the wizard or conversed with the hobbit. When she caught his gaze as she laughed at one of Kíli's stories, he could not stop the upturn of his lips. Her laugh was exquisite, full and loud, not delicate, as he had expected it to be.

Maintaining eye contact with Talaitha, Thorin realized he was in danger of growing fond of her. Aulë help him.

#

Darkness had descended upon the valley when Talaitha arrived outside Thorin's room, dressed once more in the silver circlet and midnight-blue gown. She knocked on the door, and it opened to reveal the dwarf king, looking surlier than usual.

"Lord Elrond wishes to speak with you," she said. "I'm to bring you to him."

Thorin considered protesting, but he knew it was pointless. His logical half reminded him that the dwarves were Elrond's guests and that they really did need someone to decipher the Ancient Dwarvish runes. His stubborn half, however, vehemently cursed the elves for abandoning his people during Smaug's attack.

So Thorin followed Talaitha to an airy room, where Elrond, Gandalf, and Bilbo were already gathered. Balin arrived shortly after, escorted by Lindir. Thorin noticed that although Lindir departed, Talaitha remained.

"What's this about orcs?" she asked, moving beside Bilbo.

"A pack of orcs was hunting us," Gandalf replied, "the very same pack you encountered."

Her brows creased in worry and confusion. "I thought orcs didn't venture this far north."

"Ordinarily they do not," Gandalf affirmed, sharing an ominous glance with Balin.

"Perhaps it has something to do with why you were on the East-West Road," Elrond mused aloud.

"Our business is no concern of elves," muttered Thorin.

"For goodness' sake, Thorin, show him the map," Gandalf retorted.

"It is the legacy of my people. It is mine to protect," Thorin said firmly, "as are its secrets."

Gandalf sighed in exasperation. "Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves. Your pride will be your downfall, Thorin Oakenshield. You stand here in the presence of one of the few in Middle-earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond!"

Everyone's attention now turned to the dwarf king, who was glaring at the wizard. But, to Talaitha's surprise, Thorin withdrew the map and handed it to Elrond.

"Erebor," the elf remarked in surprise. "What is your interest in this map?"

Gandalf replied before Thorin could. "It's mainly academic. As you know, this sort of artifact sometimes contains hidden text." Elrond gave him a disbelieving look, but he studied the map regardless. "You still read Ancient Dwarvish, do you not?"

Elrond ignored the question and held the map under the moonlight. "Cirth ithil," he murmured.

"Moon runes," Gandalf breathed. "Of course." He smiled down at Bilbo. "They're an easy thing to miss."

"Well, in this case, it is true," said Elrond, turning the map over. "Moon runes can only be read by the light of a moon of the same shape and season as the day on which they were written."

"Can you read them?" Thorin inquired hopefully.

Elrond flashed him a wry smile and motioned for them to follow him. He led them to a part of Rivendell that Talaitha had never seen. On a high outcropping of rock, surrounded by waterfalls, stood a clear, crystal pedestal.

"These runes were written on a midsummer's eve by the light of a crescent moon nearly two hundred years ago," Elrond explained. He placed the map on the pedestal and stared at it expectantly. "It would seem you were meant to come to Rivendell. Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield, for the same moon shines upon us tonight."

The group watched in awe as silvery runes appeared on the map under the moon's glow. Elrond began to read the markings.

"Stand by the gray stone when the thrush knocks, and the setting sun, with the last light of Durin's Day, will shine upon the keyhole."

"Durin's Day?" Bilbo remarked.

"It is the start of the dwarves' new year," Gandalf answered, "when the last moon of autumn and the first moon of winter appear in the sky together."

"This is ill news," said Thorin gravely. "Summer is passing. Durin's Day will soon be upon us."

"We still have time," Balin assured him.

Bilbo looked perplexed. "Time? For what?"

Sparing the hobbit a brief glance, Balin said, "To find the entrance," and turned back to Thorin. "We have to be standing in exactly the right spot at exactly the right time. Then, and only then, can the door be opened."

"So this is your purpose," Elrond stated, not sounding surprised at all. "To enter the mountain."

Thorin looked up at the elf, almost as if to challenge him. "What of it?"

"There are some who would not deem it wise." Elrond's tone was tinged with disapproval and something else that Talaitha had never heard in it. Was it a warning?

"What do you mean?" Gandalf asked, his great eyebrows furrowing.

Elrond regarded the wizard sternly. "You are not the only guardian to stand watch over Middle-earth."

"Who does he mean?" Bilbo whispered to Talaitha.

She shook her head helplessly and followed the elf lord down to the halls. He politely dismissed Balin, Bilbo, and Thorin, but then motioned for Gandalf and Talaitha to accompany him.

"With or without our help, these dwarves will march on the mountain," said Gandalf, as Elrond led them up a flight of stairs. "They're determined to reclaim their homeland. I do not believe Thorin Oakenshield feels he's answerable to anyone. Nor, for that matter, am I."

Elrond stopped at the entrance to a courtyard, looking at the wizard with a mischievous expression.

"It is not _me_ you must answer to."

Talaitha glanced past Elrond and gasped. Galadriel stood at the center of a dais, her long, fair hair shining like spun silver in the moonlight. She had heard of the beauty and wisdom of the Lady of Lothlórien, but the stories could not convey the sense of calm she felt when Galadriel's gaze passed over her.

Even Gandalf appeared to be awestruck.

"Lady Galadriel," he greeted her.

"Mithrandir."

"I had no idea Lord Elrond had sent for you," said Gandalf.

But it was not the lord of Rivendell who answered. This voice was deeper and far less friendly.

"He didn't. I did."

Gandalf turned towards the speaker, wincing slightly, and bowed his head in respect.

"Saruman."

Talaitha, too, had recognized the voice and had inched closer to Elrond, hoping to remain unseen.

"You've been busy of late, my friend," the White Wizard replied, with a hint of amusement. "And how delightful. Talaitha Borvirág, we meet again."

Her stomach flipped unpleasantly. She had met Saruman once before and even then had felt uneasy in his presence. He was not sinister, of course, but neither was he warm like Gandalf. Saurman exuded power and authority and little else.

Talaitha stifled the urge to hide behind Elrond.

"A fortunate happenstance," she replied, smiling the polite smile she had perfected over the years.

While Gandalf and Saruman conversed, Talaitha moved to the edge of the courtyard, feeling terribly out of place. She glimpsed Galadriel walking towards her and bowed her head.

The Lady of the Wood smiled kindly at her.

"I have heard much about your gifts in the healing arts," she said. "I have also heard that you shall accompany Thorin Oakenshield on his quest."

Talaitha's eyes widened, and she glanced at the gray wizard.

"Gandalf believes my skills will be useful," she replied.

"But you do not share his confidence."

Galadriel was watching her intently. Ordinarily, Talaitha would feel unnerved under such scrutiny, but she was relieved that she did not have to conceal her doubts. Not that she _could_ conceal them from Galadriel, but at least she did not have to try.

"What chance does my talent stand against a dragon?" Talaitha met Galadriel's gaze, searching it for reassurance.

"That I cannot answer," she admitted and grasped Talaitha's hands in her own. "But I do know that Mithrandir's faith in you is not unfounded. Trust in yourself, young one." Then Talaitha heard Galadriel's voice in her head. _:Thorin Oakenshield will need you before the end.:_

Before Talaitha could push aside her shock, Galadriel had rejoined Saruman and Elrond. Gandalf appeared by the szelemér's side and placed a large, warm hand on her shoulder.

"Go find Bilbo," he suggested. "I'm afraid I have quite turned his life upside down."

Gandalf was dismissing her, albeit gently. When Talaitha glimpsed Saruman looking in their direction, she understood it was done at the behest of the White Wizard. Yet, instead of feeling offended, she was glad, for she was anxious to leave Saruman's presence.

Talaitha bade the council farewell, but, as she was about to descend the stairs, she felt compelled to turn back towards the courtyard. She met Galadriel's gaze and heard the elf's voice in her head again.

_:Remember, Talaitha, the body will not be the only thing in need of healing.:_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The weaponless fighting style Talaitha does in this chapter is called _baranta_ , and it actually exists. It's a form of Hungarian martial arts, and the description she gives of its history is true. Not sure about the moves, though.
> 
> The sword Talaitha uses (a picture of which can be found in "Soul Healing Images") is based off a 19th century Hungarian sabre. The design is believed to be similar to the blades used by the ancient Hungarians, since it's similar to the Turkish/Oriental swords.


	9. The Princess and the King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Talaitha share a quiet moment.

Galadriel's parting words were tumbling around Talaitha's head when she reached her room. She noticed the light of the dwarves' fire farther down the hall, but was oblivious to the figure leaning against a column in the shadows.

"Elves enjoy their decorations, but even they do not lightly bestow the honor of a circlet."

Talaitha gasped, startled, and glared at the speaker.

"Yes, well, your quest has certainly attracted attention, Thorin Oakenshield. There is a meeting of the White Council."

Thorin arched a brow in amusement. She had deftly side-stepped his unspoken question.

"And are you to join this Council?"

"Of course not. Otherwise I wouldn't have been here for you to sneak up on," she snapped, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other. "But I did meet Galadriel and Saruman."

"And that is why you wear the circlet." He was smirking now and regarding her with a knowing expression.

Talaitha gave an imperceptible nod and moved to the balcony to look down upon Rivendell. Thorin allowed the silence to linger, as he watched the woman out of the corner of his eye. In that moment, she emanated tranquility, and he felt his own anxieties temporarily slip away.

But then he clamped down on his emotions. If Talaitha was to journey with the Company, she would relinquish her secrets.

"No, you wear the circlet because you are a princess."

Talaitha's head snapped up. "If Gandalf told you, I swear-"

"He did not," Thorin interrupted, with the barest of smiles. "Why do you wish to hide it?"

She scowled. "Because the title is inconsequential, as I am only a princess through marriage. No royal blood flows through my veins," she explained. "My mother's sister married the king, so my cousins are the heirs to the throne."

"Do you wish to be an heir?" Thorin inquired, observing her closely.

"Gods, no!" Talaitha laughed. "I have received preparation in the unlikely event should I become queen, but I'm entirely unsuited for the position. It requires one to be too formal, too...stiff." She glanced at Thorin and saw his eyes darken. Fearing that she had offended him, she quickly added, "I could never be as devoted to my people as you are to yours."

"Yet I am also stiff," he murmured, but he did not sound angry.

Talaitha grinned. "Well, I have hardly seen you smile, so my limited time with you leads me to believe that, yes."

Thorin stepped towards her. "And what else have you learned in your limited time with me?"

His voice was low, bordering on rough. Thorin knew that flirting with her could result in crossing boundaries that should be respected, but he was too curious of her response to care.

Talaitha hesitated, deliberating her next words.

"You are loyal but slow to forgive," she said, "stubborn but will yield if it helps your people." Her gaze flitted to his coat, and she smiled warmly. "You are ill-tempered, but you can also be quite kind."

Thorin opened his mouth, but the reply died in his throat when she closed the distance between them to lay her hands on his shoulders. It was the first contact they had shared. Although there was clothing and armor beneath her palms, a spark nevertheless ignited within him. He wondered if she had felt it, too.

It was only when he saw her lips moving that he realized she was still speaking.

"You are so very guarded, Thorin Oakenshield." Her tone was soft and tinged with sadness. "I cannot imagine how you can carry the fate of your kin on your shoulders."

"I carry it because I must," he said, silently cursing the hoarseness in his voice.

Talaitha, however, did not appear to notice it. She removed her hands from his shoulders and turned back to the balcony's railing. Unbeknownst to Thorin, she had indeed felt the same jolt when she'd touched him, and the possible implications of it frightened her.

"And that is why _you_ are worthy of a crown and I am not," she remarked.

Thorin moved to stand beside her. "You are a healer, Talaitha. I do not believe you would abandon your people if they needed you."

"Perhaps not," she said, shrugging. "But it is telling that I am conversing with a dwarf rather than with my own kin."

"The szelemér." Thorin pronounced the word slowly, testing it on his tongue.

His demeanor was neutral, but he was still wrapping his mind around the fact that he was speaking to an actual fairy. And he couldn't keep his gaze off her, especially when she ran a hand through her wavy, copper-colored hair. He wondered how those curls would feel between his own fingers.

"Some would say that I'm uncharacteristic of my race," she mused aloud. "I'm much too curious of what lies beyond Nemere."

Thorin's brows raised at her admission, and he was reminded once again of the stories surrounding the szelemér. With the moon casting its ethereal glow on her pale skin, he was struck by her resemblance to the fictional fairies of legend. He half-expected her to unfurl her myth-wings and fly off into the night.

Talaitha avoided Thorin's gaze, still unsure of his opinion of her. He had consented to her inclusion in his quest, but that was probably due to practicality, rather than to trust. Thorin despised elves, and though the szelemér were _not_ elves, they were, however, created from them. She worried that he now felt the same revulsion towards her.

Thorin was wrestling with parallel thoughts. He saw the similarities between Talaitha and the elves, yet could not bring himself to view her with the same disdain. That was not to say he trusted her. On the contrary, he was experiencing conflicting emotions. The rational part of his mind warned him that she was dangerous, for she diverted his concentration from the quest. But a smaller, less logical part insisted that he could not continue to be suspicious of everyone he met. That part was supported by his heart, which whispered that she would not betray him.

The silence had grown stale. Seeking refuge from his thoughts, Thorin decided to indulge his curiosity.

"I saw the same design that's on your locket in one of our history tomes."

Talaitha furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, then nodded. She, too, had been lost in contemplation.

"It's one of the traditional szelemér designs, probably the most common, actually."

"Does the design mean anything?" Thorin asked, his gaze dropping to the necklace. He was tempted to look lower, below the silver trim of the gown's neckline, but he stopped himself.

She smiled. "Only that our culture reveres plants. Especially our healers." Raucous laughter carried down the hall, drawing Talaitha's attention to the fire blazing on a nearby balcony. She watched as the table on which Bombur sat collapsed under his weight. "Why do you not sleep in your chambers?"

Thorin grimaced. "We do not readily accept the hospitality of the elves."

"Yet I believe that fire is kept burning with Lord Elrond's furniture," she said playfully, just as Bofur tossed a table leg into the flames. "I'm not sure I'd pass up a bed, no matter who was offering it," she declared. "Well, I'd definitely decline an orc's offer, and probably a troll's, too..."

A genuine, hearty laugh erupted from Thorin. His laughter brought such a radiant smile to Talaitha's face that he wanted to spend hours discovering what else would coax it forth. His logical side prepared to scold him. For once, he stifled it.

"Many nights are spent sleeping against a horse on the hard ground, so I take advantage of a bed when I can," she continued. "Which is why I don't understand your stubbornness."

Thorin mused that if Talaitha were to share a bed with him, he would be less averse to elvish hospitality. But that was an inappropriate and imprudent thought. No matter how desirable Talaitha was, or how much time had passed since he'd been with a woman, his quest took precedence. It had to, or else what meaning did his life have?

When Thorin looked at her again, she was watching him with a curious expression, probably wondering where his thoughts had led him. He cleared his throat and, with it, his musings.

"It is late. I shall leave you to sleep." He took her hand and pressed a soft kiss upon her knuckles, allowing his lips to linger. A gentle warmth spread through them both. "Goodnight, Talaitha."

She stared at their still-joined hands, before pulling away with a blush.

"Goodnight, Thorin."

As he made his way back to his kin, Talaitha remained where she was, unmoving, gazing at the dwarf's retreating back. She looked down at her knuckles, which still tingled from Thorin's kiss. What in Eru's name did that gesture mean?

Sighing, she entered her chambers and prepared for bed, though she knew sleep would come reluctantly.

#

It was still dark when Talaitha awoke to a knock at her door. She wondered if it was Elrond, coming to inform her of the White Council's verdict. Or if not he, then Gandalf, for who else would seek out her before dawn?

Ignoring the velvet dressing gown at the foot of her bed, she stumbled to the door and opened it, a reproach for waking her on her lips. But that scolding died in her throat as her gaze fell on a dwarf, instead of on an elf or a wizard.

"Gather your belongings. We depart in ten minutes," Thorin said gruffly. His glance dropped to her silken nightgown, which revealed far too much skin for the dwarf to remain unaffected. He felt himself stir at the sight of her breasts peeking out from the top of her dress.

"But it is not yet dawn," Talaitha replied dumbly, only partly because of the early hour.

He finally looked back at her face, nearly smirking at the blush that had crept into her cheeks.

"That's the idea."

The look of confusion remained on her face for an instant longer, before it morphed into understanding.

"You're going to sneak away," she said coldly.

Thorin did not respond. He merely turned on his heel and walked down the hall, leaving the szelemér seething in her doorway. She contemplated telling Elrond but knew that if she did, Saruman would stop the dwarves. They had an important quest to complete, yet Talaitha felt guilty for leaving Rivendell without Lord Elrond's knowledge.

She closed the door, scowling, and cast a final, longing look at the bed, before donning her breeches, blouse, and corset. As she inspected her appearance in the mirror, she strapped her bow, quiver of arrows, and sword onto her back, then buckled her medicine satchel and daggers around her hips.

Talaitha crept quietly down to the stables, silencing Szélvész's greeting. The mare seemed to understand and remained quiet, while Talaitha tied the packs onto her back. The sound of approaching footsteps stilled her motions.

"She cannot come, Talaitha," Thorin said, with surprising gentleness.

The fairy faced the dwarf, her jaw clenching in anger. "First you make me sneak out of Rivendell behind a dear friend's back, and now you tell me I can't bring Szélvész?"

"We will be traveling through mountains," he replied, unperturbed by her sharp tone. "That is no place for a horse, not even a fairy's horse."

Though Szélvész didn't understand the words, she _did_ realize that something was amiss. Her mistress had begun untying the bag that she'd only just attached to her back. She took the strap of the leather pack between her teeth and tugged, getting Talaitha's attention.

The szelemér hugged the mare's neck, smiling when Szélvész nuzzled her cheek, and whispered words in Szila into her fuzzy ear. Thorin allowed Talaitha as long as possible with the horse, then touched her shoulder.

"Dawn approaches."

Talaitha sniffled but followed Thorin from the stables. She looked back at her equine traveling companion as the dwarves gathered around her. They were eager to continue their quest, or perhaps they were simply ready to be rid of the elves. At that moment, she was too sad about leaving Szélvész to really care which.

Thorin glanced at Talaitha, relieved that she had wiped away her tears. He'd never been particularly adept at handling emotions, so when confronted with them, he usually ignored them. Just like he had done now.

If possible, Bilbo appeared to be even more miserable than Talaitha. She attempted a smile for his sake, but it looked pained. As Thorin led them out of the valley, Bilbo paused to gaze wistfully down at Rivendell, bathed in the light of the rising sun.

"Master Baggins, I suggest you keep up."

Talaitha glared at Thorin. If this was how he was going to treat Bilbo, she and the dwarf would be sharing many a heated conversation.


	10. Up, up, up the Mountain They Go!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talaitha makes a move, and Thorin fantasizes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talaitha's daggers in this chapter are of Hungarian design. A picture of them can be found in "Soul Healing Images".

It was well past midday when the Company paused to eat and rest at the edge of an evergreen forest. One member of the group, however, had yet to take a break. Bilbo and the dwarves watched as Talaitha darted between the trees, gathering purple flowers.

"She may know how to fight, but she's really just like any other girl," Kíli smirked.

"She's not picking the flowers for fun," said Óin. "Those are sweet violets. They have restorative properties."

That piqued Thorin's attention. Although Talaitha had proven herself a competent fighter, her healing knowledge remained untested, and it was his duty as leader to ascertain it. At least that was what he told himself as he joined her in the forest.

"You look like a bee, flitting from flower to flower."

Talaitha spared him a glance and cut a bunch of sweet violets with a steel dagger.

"I prefer hummingbird," she said, smiling. "Anyway, you'll be glad for these at the end of the day."

Truthfully, plants were inconsequential to Thorin, but Talaitha's dagger was another matter. It was no simple knife. Delicate scrollwork was etched into the blade, and the gold grip had floral accents, with a pearl at the center of each metal flower.

"It has a twin," remarked Talaitha, noticing Thorin's interest in her blade. She pulled the other dagger from her belt and handed it to him. "My father made them for me before I left home."

Thorin twirled the dagger, testing its balance and weight. "Then he is an expert craftsman."

"Yes, I know."

She smiled proudly, but her eyes held a sadness that made Thorin's heart twinge. He stood beside her, watching her collect another bundle of flowers and racking his brain for words of comfort. But none came.

"That should be enough." It took a moment for Thorin to understand that Talaitha had meant the flowers. "Shall we return to the others? I hope Bombur didn't eat my share of the bread and sausage." Her tone was tinged with humor, causing Thorin's lips to tug upward in a small smile.

Mahal, he was definitely growing fond of the fairy.

#

Many paths led up into the Misty Mountains, but, as the Company soon realized, most of them were dead ends. Even with Gandalf's directions, they had taken more than a few wrong turns. That was not surprising, considering Thorin was leading the group.

"Don't _you_ know the way, lass?" asked Bofur, when the Company backtracked for the third time.

"I've never traveled these parts," Talaitha replied. Her tone was brusque, as though she were trying to remain calm. A strong gust of wind nudged her towards the edge of the mountain path, and she hastily grabbed onto the nearest dwarf to steady herself. It happened to be Dwalin, who pretended not to notice. Talaitha silently thanked him for his kindness.

Kíli, on the other hand, was less considerate.

"Are you afraid of heights?" he teased her.

"No," she snapped, releasing Dwalin's arm as proof. "I'm just afraid of the fall from them."

"Don't worry, Laitha, we won't let you fall." Kíli winked and slung an arm around her shoulder. "Isn't that right, Brother?"

Talaitha hadn't noticed Fíli's arrival until he, too, placed an arm around her.

"Indeed it is, Brother."

"Oh, go away, the both of you," she muttered, but her retort was softened by a grin.

When the Company reached a split in the road, Thorin paused to discuss with Balin which fork to take. Talaitha joined Bilbo near the front of the group as he gazed longingly to the west, thinking about the Shire.

"Summer is getting on. They're making hay and having picnics," he said wistfully. "By the time we get off this blasted mountain, they'll have picked the blackberry bushes bare."

Talaitha glimpsed the derisive look that flashed across Thorin's face. She interrupted the hobbit's complaints, lest the surly dwarf snap at him again.

"We're having picnics, too," she pointed out, deadpan.

Bilbo stared at her, then smiled. "And Gandalf has missed nearly all of them."

"Yes, he has," she replied. "How very unfortunate for him."

Their banter continued until Thorin finally decided on the left path. After that, conversation was sparse, because they were ascending farther up the mountain, where the air was cold and thin. Not for the first time, Talaitha wished she had packed warmer clothes.

When the sun began to set, they camped in an alcove, which offered some protection from the biting wind. Glóin built a fire for Bombur's stew, while Talaitha mashed up peppermint leaves and sweet violets for an infusion to ease the Company's aching muscles.

Some of the dwarves were reluctant to accept the infusion, but, eventually, even Dwalin drank his. Only Thorin's cup remained. The king was standing with his back to the group, gazing out over the lands below. Talaitha grabbed his stew and tea, and joined him.

"Eat," she said, handing him the bowl.

Thorin barely glanced at her as he sat against a boulder. Talaitha set down the cup and was about to leave, but Thorin's hand grasped her wrist.

"Stay."

She hesitated, then fetched her own stew and infusion, and sat beside him, pulling up her knees against the wind. She tried to conceal her shivers, but Thorin noticed them and moved closer so that their sides were touching. Talaitha instantly felt warmer.

They ate in comfortable silence, listening to the sounds of nocturnal animals, of owls and bats calling out in the darkness. From the corner of her eye, Talaitha saw Thorin pick up his cup and sniff its contents. She giggled.

"It's a mixture of peppermint and sweet violet, with a touch of honey to sweeten it," she explained. "It will help you feel less sore."

Thorin regarded her with an arched brow. "What makes you think I feel sore?"

"Right, I'd forgotten," she retorted, "you dwarves are hardier folk who are immune to fatigue and pain." Talaitha's tone was flat, but there was an amused glint in her eyes.

Thorin knew she was mocking him, but, to his surprise, he didn't mind.

"We are certainly hardier than halflings."

"Bilbo's made it this far, hasn't he?" There was an edge to Talaitha's voice that Thorin had not heard before. "You shouldn't doubt him so much. There's more to Bilbo than meets the eye."

"You are biased by your friendship with the hobbit."

"I have known him for many years, yes, but those years have taught me his qualities." Talaitha looked at Thorin. "Just as you are different from your kin, so, too, is Bilbo from his."

"How do I differ from my kin?" he inquired.

As answer, an argument broke out because Bofur would not allow Bombur to have a third helping of stew.

Talaitha grinned at the two dwarves. "You are more refined, for one."

"And the hobbit?"

"He craves to see Middle-earth," she replied. "His books and my stories will only satiate his curiosity for so long."

Thorin considered her words. She sounded so certain, but he still saw a creature of comfort, someone who cherished his armchair and well-stocked pantry, not someone who was capable of stealing treasure from a dragon.

"Yet he is no burglar."

"No, but he will _become_ the burglar you need along the way." Talaitha saw that Thorin remained unconvinced and said, "Just give him a chance. Please."

"I _am_ giving him a chance by allowing him on the quest," he reminded her. Sniffing the herbal concoction once more, he drank it and was pleasantly surprised by its taste. "This is better than I expected."

"Well, of course it is," she affirmed, with a laugh. "What good would a medicine be if it's too vile to drink? Brewing remedies is a bit like cooking. One must find a combination of ingredients that's pleasing to the palate, except a healer must also know which plants are helpful or harmful together."

"And this makes you happy?"

Talaitha tilted her head to the side. "You mean healing?" she asked. Thorin nodded. "It's more of a compulsion than a choice, really. That's how talents work with my kin. We don't choose them. _They_ choose _us_."

"What if you deny the compulsion?"

"You feel fragmented, as though a piece of you is missing," she explained, then shrugged. "Or so I've heard. I'd always just accepted mine." Talaitha paused to sip her drink. "But, yes, I do enjoy being a healer."

"You could heal in Nemere," he suggested.

"I could," she agreed, "but I wasn't content to remain there forever. Just as the szelemér are shrouded in myth among the peoples of Middle-earth, so, too, are you among the szelemér. I wanted to see the truth."

Thorin turned to her, and their gazes locked.

"You are unlike anyone I've met."

"Have you met many fairies?"

He gave her a pointed look. "That is not how I meant it."

"I see," she murmured. "Well, the sentiment is reciprocated. And I've met _many_ dwarves."

Thorin could not stop a small smile from gracing his lips. His heart warmed with her admission. She turned, leaning close enough to him that her breast brushed his forearm, and kissed his cheek.

"Good night, Thorin Oakenshield."

She collected the bowls and cups, and returned to the fire.

Thorin was motionless for a moment, not even daring to breathe for fear that any movement or noise would break the spell of what had just occurred. He could still feel the softness of her lips, the coldness of her nose, and the warmth of her exhaled breath on his cheek. If such a chaste kiss left him with so many sensations, what would a proper kiss feel like? How smooth would her skin be beneath his fingers? What sound would she make if he trailed kisses along that long, pale neck?

Forgetting about the boulder behind him, Thorin sighed and leant his head back, smacking it against the unyielding stone. He groaned, but only partly from the pain. Not for the first time since meeting Talaitha, he wished he were a common dwarf, so that he could surrender to his desires.


	11. Giants and Goblins and Wargs...Oh My!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company meets the Goblin King and Azog, and Talaitha realizes her feelings for Thorin.

Talaitha hated mountains. She hated climbing up them. She hated climbing down them. And she _really_ hated scaling the side of them during a storm. The ledge the Company traversed was narrow, and, as the rain sluiced down it, the rock became slippery, causing Talaitha to nearly lose her footing. It was a miracle that Bombur had not toppled into the valley below.

Up ahead, Bilbo's alarmed cry caught Talaitha's attention, but she did not dare avert her gaze from the path. She had traveled extensively, had encountered ruffians and wild animals, yet heights terrified her worse than anything.

"Look out!"

Now Talaitha _did_ raise her gaze, and she instantly regretted it. A massive boulder was hurtling in their direction. It smashed against the mountain above them and rained down large fragments of rock.

"This is no thunderstorm. It's a thunder battle!" Balin shouted over the fray.

What they had believed to be another mountain lifted a boulder above its head. Her mundane fear of heights was forgotten. Moving mountains were Talaitha's worst nightmare, even if she hadn't realized it until that moment.

"Well, bless me," Bofur breathed, awestruck, "the legends are true. Giants! Stone giants!"

The giant threw the boulder at its opponent, shattering its head and causing more rock pieces to pelt the Company. Talaitha bit her lip to keep from shrieking as part of the ledge beneath her feet began to crumble.

Then their mountain split in two.

Behind her, Kíli yelled for Fíli, who had been separated from his brother by the gap. Talaitha glanced up in horror. The mountain they had been scaling was yet another stone giant, and they were perched precariously on its craggy knees.

A boulder ricocheted off their giant's shoulder, sending it careening violently to the side. Talaitha screamed. Kíli wrapped an arm around her waist to steady her, his grip tightening as they crashed into the adjacent mountain. Thorin led them to safety, but Talaitha, stunned, only started to move when Dori gave her arm a sharp tug.

Her half of the dwarves were out of danger, but Fíli's half were still stuck in the battle. She watched helplessly as they were slammed into the rock face.

"No, Fíli!" Thorin cried, rushing forward.

Glimpsing Kíli's grief-stricken face, Talaitha's eyes filled with tears. She took his hand, which hung limply in her own, while they waited with baited breath for Fíli and the others to emerge from the rubble.

An agonizing moment later, Glóin announced that they were all alive and well. But Talaitha's relief was short-lived. Bilbo had disappeared. Through the darkness and rain, it was difficult to see what was happening, but she deduced that the hobbit was dangling off the edge of the cliff.

Her heart sank with the realization that there was no way she could reach him, and, even if she could, she was not strong enough to pull him up. Talaitha could do nothing but observe, as the dwarves tried to help him. In the end, it was Thorin who rescued him, at great risk to himself.

The first thing she did when she was reunited with Bilbo was hug him. The hobbit chuckled and returned the embrace.

"I'm fine, Talaitha," he reassured her. He looked up as Thorin walked past them into the cave. "Thanks to Thorin."

Talaitha, too, met Thorin's gaze, and she gave him a small, grateful smile.

The Company moved farther into the cavern to escape the wind and rain. Now that the mayhem was over, Talaitha began to feel the cold wetness of her clothes clinging to her body. She shivered.

"Right, let's get a fire started," Glóin announced cheerfully.

"No, no fires," said Thorin. "Not in this place."

"But the lass is chilled to the bone."

Thorin glanced at Talaitha, who was huddled on the floor, her knees pulled up to her chest. He heard the chatter of her teeth and frowned.

"Fíli, Kíli, get Talaitha warmed up."

The brothers grinned. "With pleasure, Uncle."

Thorin thought they seemed far too enthusiastic, but what choice did he have? He could not embrace her in front of the Company, no matter how much he wanted to. He stole another glance at Talaitha, frowning at the blue tinge to her lips. Fíli replaced Talaitha's drenched clothing with his coat and Kíli pulled her against his chest, while Bilbo knelt in front of her, rubbing her hands between his. Although he knew his nephews were harmless, Thorin couldn't suppress a stab of jealousy.

"You travel all over Middle-earth by yourself," said Fíli. "How do you keep warm when you don't have two dashing dwarves to help you?"

Talaitha's teeth had stopped chattering, and she even grinned at Fíli's question.

"Szélvész."

Bilbo noticed the brothers' confused expressions. "Her horse," he supplied.

Kíli laughed. Talaitha felt the comforting rumble against her body from where she was pressed against his chest.

"The cheeky black and white mare," he said. "I like her."

Thorin sighed and moved away; he had eavesdropped on Talaitha long enough. He assigned Bofur first watch, and then they settled down for the night. It did not take long for Talaitha, dressed once again in her mostly dry clothes, to fall asleep beside Bilbo. For Thorin, however, sleep refused to come.

#

Talaitha awoke to Thorin's urgent shout. Before she could fathom what was happening, she was dropping through the floor, screaming the whole way down. She fell unscathed atop poor Bombur, whose body had absorbed the brunt of her landing.

The travelers were still regaining their senses, when hoards of hideous, little creatures swarmed them and yanked them to their feet. In the chaos that ensued, Talaitha caught glimpses of the others, of Thorin desperately reaching for Fíli and Kíli as the goblins dragged him away.

She tried to fight off the foul things, but there were too many, and they had taken her weapons. Feeling a sharp tug on her braid, Talaitha kicked out behind her. A satisfied grin spread across her face at the goblin's grunt of pain.

Sometime during the scuffle, Dwalin managed to grab her arm and pull her towards him. The goblins bullied them apart, but not before she and the dwarf had shoved a few over the side of the bridge.

The goblins led the Company across rickety bridges into a huge cavern that served as the heart of the goblins' city. Skulls and other bones littered the walkways, while ramshackle, wooden platforms were stacked precariously on top of each other. Were the circumstances different, Talaitha might have been morbidly fascinated by the settlement. At the moment, however, she was more concerned that their weapons were tossed haphazardly into a pile. She winced as a goblin stepped on her bow, willing him to slice his foot on one of the many blades.

"Who would be so bold as to come armed into my kingdom?" asked the biggest goblin they had ever seen. "Spies? Thieves? Assassins?"

"Dwarves, your Malevolence," a goblin replied.

"Dwarves?"

"We found them on the front porch."

"Well, don't just stand there. Search them!" The goblin king grinned. "Every crack. Every _crevice_."

Talaitha's blood ran cold. It was one thing to be pushed and shoved by goblins; it was an entirely different thing to be molested by them. Her companions evidently agreed, because they did their best to hide her. Thorin even nudged her to the ground so that her hair would blend in with Glóin's beard.

But one goblin noticed her as he pushed past Dori.

"There's a girl," he announced gleefully, grabbing Talaitha and dragging her forward. The dwarves tried to stop the goblin, but his comrades held them back.

The goblin king regarded her with a leer. "Well, now. I can think of only one reason why a pretty, little thing like you would be traveling with a group of male dwarves."

Talaitha did not have to ask what he mean. His lascivious tone made it abundantly clear. Scowling at him, she refused to suffer his insult without offering one of her own.

"And _I_ can think of only one reason why you have the largest goiter I've ever seen."

The goblin king guffawed. "You're a feisty, little thing. I think I'll keep you."

He moved closer to her, and Talaitha suppressed a gag. For a healer, festering wounds and rotting flesh were part of the job, but the massive goblin's fetid stench was worse than anything she had ever smelled.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Thorin jerk forward, but Dwalin's hand on his shoulder stopped him. She was glad, for the dwarves stood no chance against the goblins. Not without their weapons, at least.

The goblin king had noticed the movement, too, and turned back to the dwarves.

"What are you doing in these parts? Speak!" No one answered. "Very well. If they will not talk, we'll make them _squawk_. Bring up the Mangler! Bring up the Bone-breaker!"

Cheers erupted in the cavern, sending a shudder through Talaitha. She did not know which were worse--orcs or goblins. Orcs were cruel and merciless creatures, but goblins possessed the same cruelty, except they were cheerful in their torture.

The goblin king pointed to Ori, who looked terrified. "Start with the youngest."

"Wait!" Thorin shouted, striding forward.

Pleasantly surprised by the turn of events, the goblin king grinned.

"Well, well, well, look who it is. Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, _King_ under the Mountain." He dipped into a mocking bow. "Oh, but I'm forgetting, you don't have a mountain. And you're not a king, which makes you nobody, really."

Thorin glared up at the goblin, who continued his taunts.

"I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head. Just the head, nothing attached. Perhaps you know of whom I speak." His tone became dark, almost sinister. "An old enemy of yours, a pale orc astride a white warg."

"Azog the Defiler was destroyed," Thorin insisted. "He was slain in battle long ago!"

The goblin king laughed. "So you think his defiling days are done, do you?"

He instructed a small, misshapen goblin to send a message to Azog, informing him that Thorin Oakenshield had been captured. Then, as the torture devices were wheeled in, he sang merrily of all the horrific injuries the dwarves, and possibly Talaitha, would soon suffer.

But the song was interrupted by the sound of metal clattering to the floor. The goblins shrieked and shrank back in fear.

"I know that sword," cried the goblin king. "The Biter. The blade that sliced a thousand necks. Slash them! Beat them!"

And beat them they did. At least four goblins began to whip Thorin, who tried to fight back but was inevitably wrestled to the ground. Talaitha leapt onto one of the goblins' backs and managed to pull him off of Thorin, before two goblins jerked her away so roughly that she was surprised her shoulder hadn't dislocated.

"Kill them! Kill them all!" By now, the goblin king was a frightening combination of furious and frantic. "Cut off his head!"

Talaitha watched helplessly as a goblin prepared to plunge a dagger into Thorin's neck. She struggled against her captors, but they held her in a bruising grip. Suddenly, she, along with the dwarves and goblins, was hurled backwards by a blinding flash of white light. She gasped as the air was knocked from her lungs. In her daze, she felt a large hand wrap around hers. She had landed next to Thorin, and he held her hand while they regained their senses.

"Take up arms," came Gandalf's voice. "Fight. Fight!"

Thorin growled, kicking at the nearest goblin, then stood and pulled Talaitha to her feet.

"Can you fight?"

As answer, Talaitha spun into a high kick that shattered the nose of the nearest goblin. Satisfied, Thorin dealt with his own foes, but his attention periodically shifted to his nephews and the szelemér to ensure that they remained unharmed.

Bifur tossed the Company their weapons, and Talaitha barely managed to catch hers without cutting herself. She twirled Ezüstlélek in a wide arc that sliced off a goblin's arm. A pang of nausea and guilt overcame her for harming another living being. But then she recalled how happily the goblins had been preparing to torture and kill the dwarves, and steeled herself against them. The foul creatures did not deserve a healer's mercy.

"Follow me," shouted Gandalf.

He led them across a bridge, which creaked and swayed beneath their feet as they ran. Talaitha tried to ignore the deep, dark chasm that yawned below, just waiting to swallow up anyone unfortunate enough to fall into it.

Goblins leapt in front of them from the platforms above. Beside her, Thorin twirled, gutting three goblins simultaneously, while Talaitha stabbed a fourth. They ran side-by-side, cutting down the goblins that stood in their path. Even in the pandemonium, she marveled at the savage grace with which the dwarf king fought.

The Company piled onto a wooden bridge, and Fíli cut the ropes securing it so that it swung towards the other side, away from the pursuing goblins. A few dwarves disembarked on every pass. When it was Talaitha's turn, she balked, her eyes wide with fear.

"Jump!" urged Thorin.

She bit back a shriek as he wrapped an arm around her waist and leapt with her to the stationary platform.

But they were not out of danger yet. The goblin king burst up through the bridge in front of them, blocking their route to freedom, and his minions pressed in from all sides to cut off their escape.

"You thought you could escape _me_?" Well and truly angry, the massive goblin swiped at Gandalf with his mace. "What are you going to do now, Wizard?"

In response, Gandalf thrust his staff into the goblin king's eye, then dispatched him quickly with a slice to his stomach and throat.

The creature toppled forward and broke off a section of the bridge. The platform fell into the abyss, taking the Company with it, their shouts echoing in the deep. A narrowing of the cavern walls slowed their descent, until they finally crashed to the bottom, rattled but unharmed.

Talaitha was lying halfway atop a dwarf, his arm wrapped protectively around her waist. Once again, she had been spared a hard landing, this time, by Thorin.

"Thank you," she said, her voice hoarse from screaming.

He nodded in response and pushed her off the rubble of the ruined bridge. Her feet had just touched the ground, when the goblin king's dead body landed mere inches away from the dwarves.

Believing their ordeal to be over, Talaitha breathed a sigh of relief. But Kíli's exclamation drew her attention to the hoards of goblins scampering towards them.

"Only one thing will save us," Gandalf said gravely. "Daylight."

They emerged from the cave onto a downwardly sloping scrub landscape that was peppered with trees and warmed by glorious sunshine. As they stopped to catch their breaths, Gandalf counted the members of the Company.

"Where is our hobbit?" demanded Gandalf.

"I think I saw him slip away when they first collared us," Nori replied.

"What happened exactly?" asked Gandalf. "Tell me!"

"I'll tell you what happened," Thorin said scathingly. "Master Baggins saw his chance, and he took it. He has thought of nothing but his soft bed and his warm hearth since first he stepped out his door. We will not be seeing our hobbit again. He is _long_ gone."

Glaring, Talaitha came face-to-face with Thorin, but, before she could defend Bilbo, the hobbit appeared from behind a tree.

"No, he isn't."

"I knew you wouldn't abandon us!" cried Talaitha. She pulled the hobbit into a tight embrace.

Kíli grinned. "Bilbo, we'd given you up."

"How on Earth did you get past the goblins?" wondered Fíli.

Bilbo chuckled nervously, and Talaitha noticed that he slid something gold inside the pocket of his waistcoat.

Gandalf, too, had seen the hobbit's strange behavior. In an attempt to draw attention away from it, he said, "Well, what does it matter? He is back."

"It matters," Thorin insisted. "I want to know. Why _did_ you come back?"

"I know you doubt me. I know you always have. And you're right, I often think of Bag End. I miss my books, my armchair, my garden. See, that's where I belong, that's home. And that's why I came back, because you don't have one. A home. It was taken from you, but I will help you take it back if I can."

The speech was simple, yet Bilbo's sincerity was obvious, even to Thorin. Talaitha smiled as the dwarf bowed his head in apology, respect, or both. Grasping Bilbo's hand, she gave it a squeeze in gratitude for returning.

But their brief respite was interrupted by the howls of wargs. Perhaps the goblin king had spoken the truth about Azog. Only the goblin's message could have lured the orcs so quickly.

"Out of the frying pan," Thorin remarked.

"And into the fire," Gandalf finished. "Run!"

And run they did, though they knew it was to no avail. The scrub landscape soon turned to forest, which ended abruptly on a cliffside. The Company was merely delaying death, if not by the orcs, then by the sheer drop over the edge. But still they forged on.

When the first of the warg scouts caught up with them, Bilbo became separated from the group. Talaitha hurried to his aid, but he stabbed his blade into one of the beasts' forehead, saving himself.

She grinned, but didn't have time to congratulate him as a warg leapt at her. She ducked and rolled, then loosed two arrows simultaneously into the creature's neck to sever its windpipe. When she looked back at Bilbo, he was standing against a tree, staring in shock at the dead warg at his feet.

"Up into the trees, all of you!" Gandalf shouted.

That broke the hobbit's stupor as he struggled to pull his sword from the warg's skull. Talaitha tried to go back for him, but large hands lifted her into the nearest tree. Thorin followed her up.

"I have to help Bilbo," she insisted, her tone bordering on frantic.

Thorin wrapped an arm around her waist to stop her from jumping to the ground. "I will not see you harmed," he said firmly.

"But he's still down there!"

Right after she said that, however, Bilbo succeeded in freeing his blade and was climbing into the neighboring tree. Just in time, too, for the orcs had come into view. Thorin gripped her side, his fingers digging painfully into her ribs, when he glimpsed the leader of the orcs.

"Azog," he breathed in disbelief.

The Pale Orc spoke to the Company in Orcish; the only comprehensible words were "Thorin" and "Thráin." The dwarf king's shocked expression morphed into one of fear, and then into one of such hatred that Talaitha flinched away from him. His arm fell from her waist.

Wargs attacked the tree she and Thorin were in, shaking it and snapping him out of his daze. Talaitha gasped and clung to the trunk as she was nearly dislodged. Thorin's arm wrapped around her middle again, pulling her into the safety of his chest. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Attempting to ignore the sounds of the wargs, she focused instead on the soft fabric of Thorin's tunic beneath her cheek, the strong, reassuring beat of his heart, which quickened as she tightened her hold on him.

Their situation turned from bad to worse when the wargs uprooted their tree, sending it toppling over. Thorin jumped with Talaitha into another tree, but that one also began to fall. It hung precariously near the ledge, so it was only a matter of time before the wargs brought down that tree, too.

But Gandalf had a solution. He set a pinecone on fire and threw it at the nearest wargs. When they recoiled, he lit more to give to the Company. The wargs retreated, and Talaitha would have cheered at Azog's shout of rage, had their tree not suddenly keeled over the edge of the cliff. Talaitha yelped and scrambled for a better hold on her branch, thankful once again for Thorin's grip on her waist.

Dori and Ori, however, weren't so lucky. She watched in horror as they fell, but Dori miraculously caught the end of Gandalf's staff. Although they were safe for now, neither dwarf nor wizard could hold on forever.

Realizing his friends were about to die, Thorin released Talaitha and unsheathed Orcrist. Talaitha sat up, grabbed his elbow, but he shook her off and sprinted towards Azog.

The white warg leapt off its boulder and bowled Thorin to the ground, but he was quickly on his feet again, only to be struck down by Azog's mace. Before the dwarf could rise, the white warg clamped its jaws around his torso and hurled him onto a flat rock. Talaitha screamed, digging her nails into the tree trunk so hard that bark jammed under them. She barely felt the sting. All she knew was the cold dread in her stomach. All she heard were Thorin's shouts of pain. All she saw was his dazed form lying atop the rock, at the mercy of Azog's second-in-command.

And then she saw a small body leap and shove aside the orc. Brave, little Bilbo stabbed the second-in-command. He stood between Thorin and the orc pack, slashing threateningly with his sword. That was all the motivation Talaitha needed. With as fierce a battle cry as she could muster, she joined the dwarves as they ran to aid both Bilbo and Thorin. She sliced the neck of a warg, while Fíli stabbed the orc that tumbled from its back.

Out of the corner of her eye, Talaitha saw Bilbo kill an orc, but when she glanced back at him, he was on the ground, with the white warg advancing upon him. She hurried towards him, placing herself between the hobbit and the Pale Orc.

"Don't you dare touch him," she spat, brandishing Ezüstlélek.

Azog laughed and spurred his warg forward, but neither beast nor fairy got a chance to strike, for giant eagles swooped down from the night sky, plucking up wargs and dropping them over the edge.

Talaitha watched as an eagle grasped Thorin's inert form and flew off. Another eagle came for her, but she was initially too concerned about Thorin to register just how high up she really was. As the air whooshed past her, however, she eventually glanced down at the tiny, blurred landscape below, and her stomach roiled from the sight. Fisting her hands into the giant bird's feathers, she did not look down again.

#

Sometime during the flight, Talaitha had drifted to sleep, only to be woken by her eagle's loud squawk. She squinted against the morning sunlight, her eyes adjusting enough to make out a familiar, bear-shaped carrock. Although she'd never been there before, she had told children many tales about the mysterious skin-changers that lived near the carrock. A thrill of excitement fluttered through her at the prospect of meeting one of the people partly descended from her kin.

Thorin was the first member of the Company to be deposited on the carrock, followed by Talaitha. Whether or not her eagle sensed her urgency, she was nevertheless grateful to it for setting her down so quickly. Who landed next, she could not say, for she rushed to Thorin. Placing one hand on his forehead and the other on his chest, the szelemér closed her eyes to assess the extent of his injuries. He had three broken ribs, deep puncture wounds from the warg's teeth, and countless cuts and bruises, but, thankfully, no internal bleeding. With a little help, his body would soon mend.

Talaitha sent Thorin a powerful wave of energy--bright yellow, which only she could see--and waited. By then, the dwarves had gathered around their king, watching with mixed expressions what to them seemed like magic. Indeed, seconds later, Thorin's pale-blue eyes opened.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," Talaitha greeted cheerfully, though she silently said a prayer to Yavanna. Thorin's gaze met hers, and she understood his unasked question. "You're still injured, but you have enough strength to last you until your wounds are tended."

Although he did not fully comprehend what she'd done, he knew it was because of her that he was awake. He squeezed her hand in thanks, and then she moved aside to make room for Gandalf.

"The halfling," whispered Thorin.

"It's all right, Bilbo is here," the wizard informed him, with a smile. "He's quite safe."

Bilbo sagged in relief when Thorin, aided by Dwalin and Kíli, struggled to his feet. As he straightened, a pained grimace twisted his face, but he shook off Kíli's steadying hands to stalk towards Bilbo.

"You. What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed," Thorin said harshly. "Did I not say that you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild? That you had no place amongst us?"

Talaitha watched him warily, ready to intervene should Thorin's temper run away with him. But his anger softened into gratitude, and he embraced Bilbo.

"I have never been so wrong in all my life."

Blinking back tears, Talaitha's heart warmed when Bilbo's shocked expression morphed into a smile. The hobbit had finally earned Thorin's respect and friendship, albeit far later than she would have liked. Still, she felt a surge of affection towards the dwarf king as he apologized to Bilbo for doubting him.

"No, I would have doubted me, too," said the hobbit. "I'm not a hero, or a warrior, or even a burglar." He looked at Gandalf, who smiled, and then at Talaitha, who ran forward to hug him.

"You _are_ a hero, Bilbo Baggins," she whispered, so that only he could hear. "To Thorin, to Fíli and Kíli, and to me."

Though Bilbo didn't know it, those last three words were the first admission of her feelings for the dwarf king. No longer could she deny that she cared for Thorin, not after watching the warg toss him aside like a ragdoll.

She was pulled from her thoughts as the eagles circled around the carrock a final time, before flying off. When Thorin glimpsed the mountain in the distance, his smile was replaced with an expression of awe.

Bilbo, too, had noticed the peak and moved to Thorin's side. "Is that what I think it is?"

The Company followed Thorin to the edge of the carrock, where Gandalf confirmed their hopes. "Erebor, the Lonely Mountain. The last of the great dwarf kingdoms of Middle-earth."

"Our home," Thorin breathed, his tone soft and proud.

A small bird flew towards Erebor, chirping merrily.

"A raven. The birds are returning to the mountain."

"That, my dear Óin, is a thrush," Gandalf corrected him.

"But we'll take it as a sign," said Thorin, smiling down at Bilbo. "A good omen."

"You're right," agreed the hobbit. "I do believe the worst is behind us."

He sounded so optimistic that Talaitha refrained from reminding him that he would be facing a dragon when the Company reached Erebor. Instead, she moved closer to Thorin, whose hand brushed hers ever so lightly. But it was enough for her to know that it had been no accident.

Thorin was alive, Bilbo was in good spirits, the Company was safe, and their destination was within their sights. In that moment, Talaitha felt like she was truly on top of the world.


	12. Baths and Talking Horses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Since this story was written well before _Desolation of Smaug_ , these next chapters mostly follow the book. 
> 
> Thorin and Talaitha bond over strange-smelling healing salves, after which the Company prepares to meet a friend.

The euphoria of seeing the Lonely Mountain faded when the Company began to descend the carrock. Stairs had been cut into the stone, but they were too tall for Bilbo, Talaitha, and the dwarves to traverse, so they were forced to lower each other down one-by-one. It was a slow process, but they eventually safely reached the bottom.

The Anduin River sat at the foot of the stairs, with large, flat stones spanning it and serving as a makeshift bridge. The Company paused to take stock of their situation. They had lost their food, supplies, and extra clothing during their encounter with the goblins, and they'd gone off course, as well. To make matters worse, Gandalf informed them he was leaving.

"I always meant to see you safely over the mountains, and have done so, though there were a few unforeseen hiccups along the way."

Thorin glared at him. "We might not have suffered those _hiccups_ had you not waylaid us in Rivendell."

"And if I hadn't, then you'd still be none the wiser about how to enter Erebor." There was an impatient edge to the wizard's normally cheerful tone.

"You engineered this quest, Szürkevándorló," Talaitha reminded him, intervening before an argument erupted.

Gandalf smiled. The szelemér had called him Szürkevándorló, his Szila name, hoping it would placate him.

"I do not wish to leave you all," he lamented, "but I have pressing business to attend to elsewhere."

"But you've only just rejoined us," Bilbo protested.

"Yes," said the wizard, "and I will rejoin you again once I have dealt with my business."

Thorin watched Gandalf expectantly, and even Talaitha was curious what could draw him away from such an important quest.

"You could at least tell us what this other business is," she said.

Gandalf hesitated, and then sighed. "Very well," he said. "Radagast the Brown discovered disturbing signs that a necromancer has taken up residence in Dol Guldur. That, coupled with the orcs and trolls venturing into new territories, suggests that a darkness is gathering in Middle-earth once more." He stared into the distance, his expression grim and his mouth set in a thoughtful frown. "I must ascertain its source, before it's too late."

"Are you saying that..." Talaitha trailed off, the question too terrible to voice.

Bilbo looked confused, as did some of the dwarves. But Thorin understood.

"If your assumption is correct," he said, "then Smaug must be destroyed, lest the Necromancer learn of his existence."

Gandalf nodded. "Which is why it is imperative that I acquire as much knowledge as I can."

"What is going _on_?" asked Glóin, exasperated.

"I think what Gandalf and Thorin are afraid of is that this necromancer could use Smaug to wreak havoc upon Middle-earth," Talaitha answered.

The dwarves were taken aback. Poor Bilbo was aghast.

"Now just wait a moment," he objected, "I didn't sign up for a necromancer."

Bilbo's indignant outburst dispelled the gloom that had settled over the Company, and even their leader's lips twitched into a smile.

"No, you did not, Master Hobbit," Thorin said, his tone tinged with amusement.

"And I'm not leaving you _yet_ ," said the wizard. "I will, of course, ensure you have supplies first."

"And where will we get these supplies?" Dwalin asked. "I have not heard of many who live in these parts."

Gandalf's eyes twinkled mischievously. "You are quite right, my dear dwarf," he said. "But there is somebody I know of who lives nearby, and that somebody made the carrock's steps. We just have to find him."

Talaitha knew of whom Gandalf spoke, but she would let him divulge the secret in his own time. The wizard loved a bit of mystery, after all. Besides, she had something more pressing on her mind.

"Well, I don't know about _you_ lot, but I'm going to take advantage of the river and bathe."

Thorin's head snapped up, drawing curious glances from some of the dwarves. He tried to play off his reaction as impatience, but Balin and Dwalin were not fooled.

"We do not have time for such luxuries," he stated.

"I don't see you rushing across the ford," said Talaitha. She raised her eyebrows, as though she also knew that Thorin had lied. "I stink of goblin, so I'm _going_ to have my bath. You may join me, if you wish."

Whether that invitation extended to the entire Company or only to Thorin, he never found out, because by the time he'd overcome his surprise at her forwardness, Talaitha was striding towards the river. She undressed behind the privacy of a large boulder and waded into the cool, clear water. Although her soaps had been lost, along with her spare clothes, she managed to scrub away the sweat and grime. The lilac oil in her medicine pack would mask any lingering odors that the rudimentary bath could not.

Talaitha was washing her blouse, when she heard splashing and talking on the other side of the boulder. She grinned. It seemed the dwarves were also eager to cleanse themselves of the stench of goblin. As she smoothed lilac oil through her hair, she wondered if Thorin was on the other side of the rock.

He was, and his mind kept wandering to Talaitha, reminding him that she was as naked as he and well within his reach. All he had to do was swim around the boulder, and she could be his.

Thorin suppressed a groan. He was in a river with fourteen men, two of whom were his nephews, on a dangerous mission to reclaim his birth home. This was not the time for lustful fantasies. His body, however, disagreed, for when he heard Talaitha's voice, his desire returned.

"All right, gentlemen," she announced, "cover anything you don't want a woman to see."

She waited a moment, then rounded the rock--clothed, to Thorin's simultaneous disappointment and relief. A blush crept into Bilbo's cheeks, though he was submerged up to his neck. Kíli was less bashful.

"Who said we don't want you to see?"

Had Thorin been nearer to his nephew, he would have smacked him upside the head. Had Talaitha been a demure lady, she would have been scandalized by the comment. But she merely grinned.

"Let me amend my sentence," she said. "Cover anything _I_ don't want to see."

Bofur placed a hand to his chest. "You wound us, lass."

"I'm terribly sorry," she replied, but her barely-concealed smirk detracted from the apology. "I only came to get your leader." Her gaze flicked to Thorin, whose heart skipped a beat. "Put on your breeches and meet me on the other side of the boulder."

When Talaitha had turned her back, Thorin did as he was told. A chorus of laughter and suggestive teasing accompanied him, and even Gandalf, fully clothed and smoking his pipe, joined in with a chuckle. Thorin glowered at his men.

Talaitha was waiting for him, an amused smile gracing her lips.

"Sit," she instructed and pointed to a log on the riverbank.

He complied, surprised at his swift acquiescence. Thorin Oakenshield did not take orders from anyone, except, apparently, from Talaitha. As he sat on the log, watching her rummage through her _tarsoly_ , he realized that his agreeability stemmed from his desire to please her. He groaned.

She looked up at the sound. "Do your injuries pain you?" she asked, her brows creasing in concern.

"Uh, no," he said, "it was merely a twinge."

Mahal help him, he was becoming smitten with the woman.

"Good, then stop scowling at me, or I'll let your wounds fester," she warned him.

Thorin crossed his arms, careful to avoid the cuts and bruises. "Óin could have tended to my injuries."

"He could have," she agreed and poured a few drops of a sweet, citrus-scented liquid onto a cloth. "But I'm finished bathing, and he isn't."

Talaitha pulled his arms away from his chest to survey his injuries. Most of the cuts and puncture wounds looked fine, but some of deeper ones showed signs of inflammation. Those she could treat, but the large, dark bruise extending from his ribs to his hip would need to heal on its own.

While she dabbed at his lacerations, Thorin struggled to ignore the sensations coursing through his body. Her blouse was drying in the sun, allowing new expanses of pale skin to be uncovered to his gaze. He tried in vain to ignore the swell of her breasts, so deliciously accentuated by the leather corset. He steeled himself against her gentle fingers, trailing down his chest and along his shoulders, brushing aside his long, damp hair. It was only the sting of the sweet-smelling liquid which grounded him.

"What is that?" he asked, thankful for the distraction.

"An infusion of marjoram. It'll clean your wounds from the inside."

"It stings," he said lamely.

Talaitha's lips twitched, but she did not reply. Silence descended between them as Thorin considered how to phrase the question burning in his mind. In the end, he decided to be direct.

"What happened on the carrock?"

"You were unconscious," she answered, "so I woke you."

Thorin caught her hands, forcing her to look at him. "How?"

"I shared my energy with you," she explained, with a shrug. "It's nothing remarkable, really."

Averting her gaze, she pulled her hands free and resumed her work. But Thorin would not let the matter lie.

"Perhaps to you it isn't," he said, "but I probably would not be awake now if it hadn't been for you." He touched her arm, prompting Talaitha to glance at him, and, in that moment, he wanted nothing more than to kiss her.

"What did it feel like?" she asked.

"Warm...safe," he said slowly, "like a ray of sunshine inside my chest."

Talaitha smiled. "Many of my patients describe it that way." She set aside the marjoram and dipped a clean corner of the cloth into a light-green paste. "Although, a few likened it to the feeling of alcohol settling in their stomach," she quipped, "but I suspect _they_ were overly fond of brandy."

Thorin listened, soothed by the sound of her voice, until she spread the light-green paste onto his puncture wounds. He flinched away, his ribs throbbing in protest.

"It's cold," he complained.

"Because it contains aloe vera, which will soothe the inflammation."

"And the smell?"

Talaitha laughed. "Witch hazel. It's not the most pleasant scent, I grant you, but it, too, has soothing properties. And that earthy undertone is sage. It will accelerate the healing process."

By the time she was finished, Thorin's skin tingled pleasantly, but his ribs ached every time he moved or breathed. Talaitha seemed to sense his discomfort.

"Eat these," she said, handing him two sweet violets. "They'll numb the pain from your broken ribs."

Thorin obeyed, with a grimace. Whoever named sweet violets had clearly never tasted them. "No honey this time?"

"Unfortunately not. It was in my bag, so the goblins have it now."

She watched him while he chewed, allowing herself to really look at him. Despite his battered appearance, she was struck by how handsome he was, how broad and well-muscled his torso was. Crystal-blue eyes observed her curiously as she touched one of the braids framing his face and examined the silver bead at the end.

"Braids are symbolic amongst my people," he explained. "Mine represent my status as Durin's heir, as do Fíli's."

Talaitha met his gaze, and her hand traveled from his braid to his cheek. "Is it true that braiding another's hair is an act of affection?" Her voice was soft, but tinged with something Thorin could not identify.

"Aye," he replied and gently tugged on one of her copper curls. "Is it not the same amongst your people?"

Talaitha shook her head. "But when a boy pulls a girl's hair, it's seen as a gesture of affection."

"I am no boy," he murmured, but he did not deny her words.

Talaitha smiled at the dwarf. She brushed a finger over a bruise on his left cheekbone, and then hesitantly placed a kiss upon it. Thorin's hands snaked around her hips, settling Talaitha onto his knees. She giggled when she saw he was still chewing the flowers.

"I may not have honey," she said, her attention flicking between his eyes and his lips, "but I may yet be able to help."

She leaned towards him, and that was all the invitation Thorin required. Their lips met in a chaste kiss that deepened when neither participant retreated. He barely tasted the bitterness of the flowers, and even his ribs pained him less.

"Much sweeter than honey," Thorin deduced, his voice husky from arousal.

Talaitha blushed, bringing a rare smile to his face. With the sun shining down upon them, her hair gleamed like spun copper, and a light smattering of freckles dusted her nose and cheeks.

"Beautiful," he whispered.

And so unlike dwarf women. Talaitha was softer and more delicate, yet she nevertheless possessed a spirited independence that he found irresistible.

She stroked his cheek and rested her head on his shoulder, sighing softly in contentment. A light breeze blew, carrying with it a familiar scent.

"Lilacs."

"Yes, it's the oil in my hair. I always carry a vial with me, because it reminds me of home."

"My coat smelled of lilac after you returned it."

"Sorry about that," Talaitha apologized sheepishly. "It is far too sweet a scent for such a mighty dwarf." She smirked, using her finger to wipe away the excess balm from his chest. "Whereas witch hazel...now _that's_ a scent which suits you."

"Watch it, fairy," he growled, tickling the exposed skin between her corset and breeches.

Her giggles warmed Thorin's heart as she squirmed away from his dancing fingers. He savored this interlude for as long as he dared, before standing and bringing Talaitha with him.

"The day is nearly half over," he stated. "We must move on."

And just like that, Thorin, heir apparent to the throne of Erebor, had returned.

#

The flat stones spanning the Anduin had evidently been made by the same giant of a man that had carved the carrock's steps. They were spaced so far apart that the Company had to leap from stone to stone in order to cross the ford. As the smallest, Bilbo sometimes couldn't make the jump and had to be tossed by Dwalin, and even Talaitha had lost her balance once, only to be steadied by Bifur.

A forest of tall grasses stretched beyond the river, dwarfing everyone except Gandalf. Each time the breeze swayed the grass, the shorter members of the Company were swatted in the neck, and, by the time they exited, they were itchy and irritated. Talaitha searched through her _tarsoly_ for something to ease their inflammation.

"Please tell me you have a salve that'll stop this itching," said Bilbo, scratching the reddened skin on his neck. Of the group, he appeared to be suffering the most.

"Not exactly," she replied apologetically. "I lost a lot of my medicines in the goblin cave, so the only salve I have is an aloe vera-witch hazel paste that's too precious to waste on minor discomforts."

Bilbo huffed indignantly. " _Minor discomforts_?" he repeated, and some of the dwarves murmured in agreement. "I'm going to scratch myself bloody, Talaitha."

"If we use up my last healing salve now, what will happen when someone has a serious injury and I've nothing to stave off infection with?" she retorted. "I'm sorry, Bilbo, but, until I find more ingredients, we must use the medicines sparingly."

The hobbit scowled but offered no further protest. Talaitha glanced helplessly at Gandalf, who gave her a reassuring smile and resumed the lead. The grass gave way to fields of clover, their orange, purple, red, and white flowers brightening the landscape.

Talaitha grinned as she unsheathed one of her daggers and collected large bunches of the plants.

"I've never seen so many colors of clover in one place before. It has a variety of medicinal uses," she said, winking at Bilbo, "including soothing irritated skin. A salve of clover would be ideal, but rubbing the leaves and flowers on the affected areas should also be effective."

While the Company treated the rashes on their necks, Gandalf briefed them on the mysterious person they would soon be visiting.

"When I introduce you to this somebody, you must all be very polite." The wizard glanced at Thorin. "He is easily angered and has an appalling temper. Or so I've heard."

Talaitha's expression remained neutral, but her tone was playful as she murmured to Thorin, "A kindred spirit, then?"

He glowered but didn't move away from the szelemér. Taking her hand, he gave it a warning squeeze, causing Talaitha's lips to twitch. But when Bofur looked at them, he quickly dropped her hand.

"Will you finally tell us _who_ you're taking us to?" Thorin demanded.

"His name is Beorn, and he is-"

"A skin-changer!" Talaitha exclaimed excitedly.

Bilbo gaped. "One of the people who can take on the forms of animals?"

"That's the kind," Gandalf replied. "Sometimes he's a black bear, and other times he's a man. The beast is dangerous, but the man can be reasoned with."

"And he has horses that he talks to. I would so love to have a conversation with Szélvész," Talaitha said wistfully.

"She seems to understand speech well enough," Thorin remarked, remembering the uncanny intelligence in the mare's eyes.

Talaitha nodded. "Yes, she's quite perceptive, but, according to legend, animals and skin-changers understand each other as plainly as you and I."

She did not mention that the reason skin-changers could speak to animals was because the father of the shape-shifting race was a szelemér named Kund Földes, whose gift included an affinity for animals.

Halfway through the clover field, the Company heard a loud buzzing.

"We are at the edge of his bee pastures, so it should not be long now," said Gandalf.

Bilbo inched closer to the wizard when a bee larger than his hand flew past him. Getting stung by one of those would be akin to being stabbed by a knife, but the bees seemed docile and uninterested in the Company. They flitted amongst the flowers, collecting nectar that they would later turn into honey. Perhaps Beorn would be willing to part with a jar or two.

It was evening when they reached a tall hedge that was so densely packed with thorns that they couldn't see through it. Talaitha wondered how they would get past it.

"Wait here. When you hear my signal, walk along the hedge in pairs, five minutes apart, until you reach a wooden gate," Gandalf instructed them. He clapped a hand on the hobbit's shoulder. "Come, Bilbo!"

Bilbo glanced back at Talaitha, who gave him an encouraging smile. Despite Gandalf's warning about Beorn's temper, she was sure he wouldn't harm the hobbit. She was less certain about Thorin, Dwalin, and Glóin, though.

Kíli poked Talaitha's arm. "You seem awfully happy to be meeting this skin-changer."

Fíli joined his brother. "You know something we don't."

"Of course I'm excited to be meeting Beorn. Even the szelemér have legends about his kind."

Thorin watched her closely, but he could detect no lie in her words. Even if he could, however, it would make little difference. If Talaitha was concealing information, he knew it could be nothing important, for neither she nor the wizard would let the Company meet Beorn if he truly meant them ill.

"How does someone even turn into an animal?" Bofur wondered aloud.

Kíli replied with his usual cheek. "You could ask him to show you."

Bifur vehemently shook his head and muttered something in Khuzdul. Talaitha only understood "no," "ax," and "kill."

"I don't fancy meeting a bear with a human mind either," said Nori.

Their banter was interrupted when they heard a loud whistle. Gandalf's signal. Thorin nodded at Talaitha, and together they walked along the hedge until they reached the gate. When they passed through it, Talaitha barely suppressed a girlish squeal.

"Beorn's talking horses!"

Sure enough, a small herd of sleek horses trotted up to them, regarding them with intelligent eyes. A dapple-gray mare nuzzled Talaitha's shoulder, while a black stallion whinnied something to Thorin that sounded suspiciously like "welcome, dwarf king."

Talaitha's grin grew even wider, to Thorin's amazement, when a red chestnut stallion nudged her hand to be petted. The szelemér happily obliged, but a huge, white stallion snorted impatiently and beckoned Thorin and Talaitha towards a long, wooden house.

Talaitha was sad to see the horses gallop away, but a new exhilaration filled her at the knowledge of who was waiting beyond the doors.

Unsurprisingly, Thorin did not share her excitement.


	13. Stories by Moonlight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Talaitha fluff, mostly. 
> 
> Because I wrote this before the second film, my Beorn resembles the book Beorn. Alas, I was too lazy to change it. 
> 
> The song Talaitha sings is a Hungarian folk song called "Szivárvány havasán," which loosely translates to "At the top of the rainbow." The lyrics are originally in Hungarian, but I've translated them. If you're curious of the Hungarian version, Holdviola has a pretty one: https://soundcloud.com/szerafina7/06-sziv-rv-ny-havas-n

When Talaitha and Thorin entered the house, they were met with a wide hall, in the middle of which burned a low fire. The furniture was large, too large for the dwarves, and made entirely of wood. There were few decorations, save for the intricate carvings in the furniture, and Talaitha saw no metallic objects.

"Look," Thorin murmured.

Talaitha grinned when she followed the dwarf's gaze. Outside in the courtyard was a garden full of flowers and healing herbs, but what delighted her most was that some of the plants were from Nemere.

"There are many I do not recognize," said Thorin.

Talaitha's reply was cut short when a loud, booming voice greeted them.

"So the wizard speaks the truth after all! One of the szelemér has indeed stepped foot inside my home."

The black-haired man was tall and broad and was walking towards them with powerful strides. Talaitha thought she saw a bit of bear in him. She felt Thorin tense beside her, saw his hand instinctively touch Orcrist's hilt. If Beorn saw the movement, too, their welcome would not be pleasant.

She stepped in front of the dwarf and smiled. "I am Talaitha Borvirág."

"The wandering healer!" Beorn exclaimed, with a hearty chuckle. "Radagast spoke of you, but I thought his brain had finally become addled from all those mushrooms."

Talaitha giggled. "I have not seen him in years. And before then, I'd only met him a few times while traveling through the Green Wood."

"He is unchanged," said Gandalf, appearing from behind a pillar with Bilbo.

"I now know who _you_ are, fairy, but who is the dwarf hiding behind you?" asked Beorn, his brown eyes glinting with amusement. "And very poorly, I might add."

Thorin stepped around Talaitha, managing to keep his voice civil. "I am Thorin, son of Thráin."

"The dwarf king. Gandalf mentioned he was traveling with you." Beorn motioned for them to follow. "Come! The wizard was just regaling me with a tale of goblins and orcs, and I do enjoy a good story, even if I am dubious of its truth."

Thorin's expression darkened, but Beorn had already turned away. Gandalf gave him a pointed look, to which the dwarf reluctantly nodded. He would tolerate Beorn for the sake of the Company and the quest. And for Talaitha, who seemed to like the skin-changer.

"I have been waiting to hear the full account, for the wizard apparently missed most of the fun," said Beorn. "So tell me, Thorin, son of Thráin, how you came to be ambushed by goblins."

"While crossing the Misty Mountains during a storm, we ended up in the middle of a battle between stone giants. I and several of my companions sought refuge in a cave we believed to be unoccupied."

Beorn raised a thick, quizzical brow. "Do you call two several?"

"Well, no... As a matter of fact, there were more than two."

Beorn looked around his house, as if he thought the dwarves were so small that he'd overlooked them.

"Where are they? Have they all been killed or eaten? Or did they perhaps have their fill of stone giants and goblins and go home?"

Gandalf rescued Thorin from a reply. "They are here but apparently didn't come when I whistled. I fear we are a rather large group to entertain."

Talaitha feigned a yawn to hide her grin when Bilbo muttered about having his pantry pillaged by dwarves. But Beorn, fortunately, hadn't heard the hobbit's disgruntled mumblings.

"Go on, whistle again. If I'm in for a party, which it seems I am, a few more won't make a difference."

Just then, Dori and Ori arrived to introduce themselves with a deep bow. Thorin continued his story, sometimes helped along by Talaitha, while the rest of the dwarves trickled inside in pairs, five minutes apart, as the wizard had instructed. When Thorin reached the part about Azog's attack, Gandalf took over.

"Flaming pinecones!" The skin-changer guffawed. "I wish I'd been there. I would have given them more than fireworks."

To Talaitha's relief, Beorn had become so engrossed in the story that he seemed to accept the thirteen dwarves with little more than a distracted wave of his hand. She suspected that had been Gandalf's intention all along and the reason he'd had them stagger their arrivals.

When the events had been recounted, Beorn was grinning.

"A very good tale, the best I've heard in a long while. If all vagabonds could tell such stories, they might find me more welcoming." Then he shrugged. "You may be making it all up, of course, but you deserve a supper for the excellent entertainment."

The meal was unlike anything Talaitha had experienced. Gray dogs strode in, carrying torches in their mouths to light the hearth. White ponies pushed in a table and benches that were approximately dwarf-sized. And Beorn set the table with cutlery and food. All the while, the skin-changer and the animals communicated in animal sounds that formed a strange yet familiar language.

There was no meat served, but the dwarves wisely didn't vocalize their laments, for they knew Beorn would be less tolerant than the elves had been. The cakes, honey, nuts, and cream were satisfying enough, though Talaitha considered them to be dessert foods, rather than a proper meal.

Beorn told them stories of his own, ending with the decline of the Green Wood.

"It is called Mirkwood now," he said grimly. "Terrible creatures dwell there, giant spiders, wicked wargs, and the forest is slowly decaying."

Talaitha frowned. "But I was there two years ago, and it was still green and good."

"Then you were there shortly before it turned foul," Beorn replied. "Radagast and the elves fight the darkness as best they can, but the spiders grow bolder."

Gandalf and Thorin shared a look, both thinking the same thought: the Necromancer was responsible.

"Why don't the elves just leave if it's so dangerous?" Bilbo asked.

Thorin stiffened beside Talaitha. "I would not be surprised if they did," he said coldly.

She was confused by his tone, but then realization dawned. It was the wood elves who had abandoned the dwarves to Smaug. A valid reason for Thorin's anger but probably not one to be discussed with Beorn. She placed a hand on the dwarf's arm, and he seemed to relax.

The skin-changer glanced briefly at Thorin but addressed Bilbo. "Would you so easily give up your home, little hobbit?"

Bilbo didn't even pause to consider his answer before he shook his head. Of course he wouldn't abandon the Shire, though he knew that his kin would be little match against evil creatures. He began to feel homesick again, while Talaitha felt a pang of guilt for happily leaving Nemere when there were plenty of people there who needed her help.

"Well, I have quite enjoyed this gathering, but I have some business to attend to," Beorn announced, temporarily breaking the somber mood. "Make yourselves at home. All your needs shall be seen to."

The Company moved to the floor, while the animals cleaned up the remnants of dinner. Talaitha sat beside Bilbo, slightly away from Gandalf and the dwarves, who were all smoking. It wasn't the smoke that distanced her, but thoughts of home.

"Where do you reckon he's going?" asked Bofur, lighting his pipe.

Gandalf blew a smoke ring. "To the goblin cave, I expect. Beorn hates goblins, and that is partly why he extended kindness to all of you." He looked at Talaitha, with an amused twinkle in his eyes. "Our dear fairy is the other reason."

Thorin's brows furrowed. "What does he mean?"

Talaitha glanced at the wizard, exasperation clear in her gaze, and sighed.

"He means that Beorn and I are distantly related, because the skin-changers descended from a szelemér man and a human woman."

"So fairies can transform into animals, too?" asked Kili.

"No, but some can communicate with them," Talaitha replied. "And that's how Beorn's kin began, though I have no idea how or when they learned to change their form."

Fili grinned. "No wonder you were so excited to meet him."

"Will you tell us about your home?" asked Ori. He had been writing in his journal and would no doubt record Talaitha's descriptions.

"There is much to tell."

"What's the name of your city?" Dori asked.

"Lelle. It is the capital city, and the largest." She smiled, as she remembered it. "The streets are cobbled, and everyone gathers together for market days. People play instruments and dance and sing, and the best food can often be found there."

Kili grinned. "Sing us one of the songs!"

"Absolutely not."

"What about the one about the flowers and pearls?"

Bilbo earned a glare from the szelemér for his suggestion.

"You've heard us sing, lass," said Balin. "It's only fair that we hear you now."

Thorin hid his amusement as Talaitha helplessly looked to him and Gandalf for aid. Neither man offered any. In fact, the wizard seemed to enjoy her discomfort. For a moment, Thorin considered supporting her, but in the end, his curiosity and desire to hear her sing overruled his sympathy.

When Talaitha realized that no one would help her, she sat up straighter and took a sip of water to moisten her throat, which had suddenly become quite dry. She suspected the cause was the same as what had her stomach in knots.

Taking a deep, calming breath, she began to sing.

_On top of the rainbow,_

_Is a full-bloomed lily;_

_She sits there, discontent,_

_She wants to hide away._

_She must be taken from there_

_And be placed somewhere new._

_She must be taken from there_

_And be placed somewhere new._

Her voice shook slightly at the next four verses, and tears welled in her eyes, which she quickly blinked away.

_For my father and mother,_

_I'd do anything;_

_I'd skim the foam_

_Off the ocean with a spoon._

_From the seafloor,_

_I would collect pearls;_

_But only for my rose,_

_Would I fashion a wreath of pearls._

Without thinking, Talaitha met Thorin's gaze and held it just long enough that the Company glanced questioningly between the two. Gandalf seemed to be the only one not confused; indeed, he was smiling knowingly.

Thorin looked away first, though he regretted doing so.

"We should get some sleep," he declared brusquely.

"A fine idea," Gandalf agreed. "We are safe in Beorn's hall, but do not stray outside until the sun has risen."

Sometime during the evening, beds had been laid on a raised platform between two pillars, and the fire had burned low. Bilbo snuggled into the soft blanket, grateful for a respite from the cold, hard, dirty ground. He and the dwarves fell asleep quickly, lulled by the crickets' chirps and the crackling of the embers.

For Talaitha, however, sleep did not come. After tossing and turning for an hour, she sat up and gazed out the window at the moon. It was nearly full.

"What is wrong?" asked Thorin. He sat down beside her on the bed.

"My mother and I used to lie in the meadow outside Lelle and watch the moon," she said, voice tinged with sadness. "We'd track its phases and make up stories about moon-people."

Thorin took her hand. "Tell me one of them."

"They're silly." She tried to pull her hand away, but he tightened his hold on it.

"If they comfort you, they are not silly."

Talaitha hesitated for a second, then moved closer to Thorin and rested her head on his shoulder.

"My favorite one's about Nagtael and the moon's queen, Holdhölgy, which means Lady of the Moon." She smiled slightly. "Very original, I know."

Thorin smirked in reply. After a moment, she began her tale.

_All sorts of creatures lived on the moon--elves, dwarves, humans, tree-people, horned horses, flying horses, goblins, and dragons. But they were different from the beings in Middle-earth. The elves were wild and had hair like brambles and skin like tree bark. The dwarves made fire wine, which was imbued with magma. The dragons weren't all fire-breathers. Some breathed a healing energy, while others could harness lightning. And they weren't greedy, not about treasure at least. They valued knowledge above all else._

"Too bad Smaug isn't one of those dragons," Thorin muttered.

Talaitha giggled softly. "They're still dangerous, and they'd probably attack you if you withheld information from them. But yes, I like them better than Smaug, too."

_Each being had his or her own talent, which was often magical and usually useful. Except Nagtael Silentfighter's. His gift seemed to entail repelling magical objects. Rather inconvenient in a magical land. But fortunately, his job as a watchman didn't require the use of magical objects._

_One day, as Nagtael was riding through the forest on his rounds, he came across the tree-people, who bore terrible news. The goblins, led by Gbanuz Stonebelch, were attacking peaceful creatures. They had to be stopped. So Nagtael went to each race's demesnes and rallied an army with which to fight the goblins._

_The allies fought valiantly, and Gbanuz was killed, leaving the goblins leaderless. That was when Holdhölgy, high above the battlefield, astride a beautiful, sorrel flying horse, used her gift. She unleashed a burst of pure goodness on everyone who'd participated in the battle, including and especially the goblins. Now all creatures would live in harmony for as long as Holdhölgy lived._

_But the Lady of the Moon was curious why Gbanuz had waged war, since many years ago, a wizard named Valo had cast a spell of peace on the goblins. Well, it turned out that Gbanuz had become immune to peace and had succumbed to his race's natural penchant for warmongering._

_Nagtael was hailed as a hero, for he'd rallied the army and helped kill Gbanuz. The goblins had gone back to squabbling amongst themselves. And the other creatures went back to their daily lives, as though nothing had happened. All was once again well in the land._

"How old were you when you made up that story?"

"Fifteen, I think. I'd just read about the goblin wars of the First Age and wanted to make them the villains of a story."

She smiled fondly at the memory of lying in the cool grass, staring up at the moon and imagining a great battle taking place on it.

"If you miss Nemere so much, why do you not return home?"

Talaitha lifted her head from Thorin's shoulder. "I _didn't_ miss it at first. Not for years," she replied softly. "I was too enthralled with all my adventures, with sharing my kin's remedies with the people of Middle-earth. And now I will wait until you've reclaimed Erebor."

He felt a surge of affection towards her, but it was quickly soured by remorse. "I am sorry I misjudged you."

She shrugged. "You did not know me."

"No, but I am pleased to be changing that."

Talaitha blushed and tried to duck her head, but Thorin gently tilted up her chin so he could see her eyes. They watched each other, then he leaned in and kissed her. She didn't hesitate to return the kiss this time, but it was interrupted by a growling and a scratching outside the door.

They didn't move away from each other, not even when Bilbo sat up abruptly in bed. He didn't see the dwarf and fairy immediately, for he was staring at the door, as he pulled the covers up to his neck.

Talaitha's hand slipped from Thorin's when the hobbit finally noticed them. The dwarf felt cold, like he'd been snowed on after spending the night by a warm fire. Logically, he knew it was best if he and Talaitha were subtle about their relationship--whatever their relationship _was_ \--until their quest was complete. Yet he couldn't dismiss the pang of disappointment.

"Oh, sorry!" Bilbo whispered. "I, uh, heard a noise."

The szelemér peered outside the window, but there was no movement, except the breeze.

"I think that was Beorn in bear form."

"Do you think he'll come inside?" The hobbit's voice was only slightly colored with fear.

"I don't think so," Talaitha replied. "He means us no harm."

"Unless he also has the mind of a bear." Thorin's tone was so nonchalant that he might've been talking about the weather.

Bilbo's eyes widened, and Talaitha glared at the dwarf.

"Gandalf said we're safe inside, and I trust him." She shifted in the bed, nudging Thorin with her foot. "The noises have stopped, so I think we should sleep."

Thorin resisted the urge to swat at her foot. Reluctantly, he stood and went to his own bed, feeling even colder now that he was on the other side of the platform.

It took over an hour, but finally, sleep came for the dwarf and the fairy.

#

"And then he tripped over the leg of a bench and fell face-first into one of the men in the tavern!"

Loud guffaws filled the garden, as Fili recounted Kili's most recent attempt at seducing a she-dwarf. The dark-haired brother bit out a curse in Khuzdul and punched his brother's shoulder.

"Don't look so put out, laddie," said Glóin. "Even the best of us strike out sometimes."

Óin grinned. "Like that time you dropped an ax on your foot, and it sliced halfway through your boot?"

Glóin stuffed a honey cake into his mouth, mumbling something that sounded suspiciously like "deaf, old bat."

Talaitha made the mistake of giggling too loudly, and it caught Kili's attention.

"What about you, little minx? Got any embarrassing stories?"

"None that I'd tell you lot," she retorted and bit into an apple slice.

"It can't be worse than Kili's," said Glóin, earning himself a glare from the young dwarf.

"Aye, lass," Dwalin rumbled.

"Fine," she relented. "There _was_ this one night in Bree..."

"Well, go on, tell us!" the dwarves chorused.

"I was helping the healers treat an epidemic of scarlet fever, and many of the midwives were among the ill, so I was asked to assist a birth. Later that evening, I was in the Prancing Pony, and the husband of the woman whose baby I'd delivered walked in. I thought he was just celebrating his son's birth, until he pulled a girl onto his lap and, well, you know.

"So I went over to his table and accused him of being a pig of a husband and a terrible father. The girl slapped him _hard_ and left, and it was only then that I realized he wasn't the same man. I stammered an apology and ran outside, completely humiliated. I didn't step foot inside the Prancing Pony for months. And I coincidentally haven't drunk more than one flagon of ale at a time."

"Yours is much worse than Glóin's boot," Kili chuckled.

Talaitha's first instinct was to glare at him, but then another, better idea occurred to her.

"There's no shame in it, you know, Kili," she said lightly. "If you fancied the man, you could have just told him. There was no reason for such a dramatic charade."

Kili gaped at her, unable to form coherent words. He kept opening and closing his mouth, looking like a large, hirsute fish. Talaitha smirked, as the dwarves laughed and clapped her on the back, some of them rather enthusiastically. Even Thorin managed a smile, which filled Talaitha with pride and warmth. It was no simple task to coax the dwarf king's lips out of their habitual frown.

Bilbo walked into the courtyard, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

"What's all the ruckus?"

"Ms. Talaitha has rendered Kili speechless," said Ori.

"Really?" Bilbo looked at Talaitha. "How?"

"That's not important," she replied, patting the chair next to her own. "Come, have some breakfast."

The hobbit sat down and helped himself to honey cakes, berries, and cream.

"You're lucky there's still some left." Bofur grinned. "If you'd 'ave slept any longer, there wouldn't 'ave been."

The fairy fixed the dwarf with a mock-glare, before touching Bilbo's shoulder. "I'd have saved you a plate."

It was only when Bilbo was eating his second cake that he noticed one of their group was missing.

"Where's Gandalf?"

"He was gone this morning when we awoke," Balin answered. "And Beorn hasn't returned yet either."

"Shouldn't we look for them?"

Thorin spoke for the first time that morning. "We will as soon as you finish."

Once Bilbo had eaten his fill, they walked the perimeter of the house, looking for signs of the skin-changer and the wizard. All they found were bear tracks leading into the forest. None of the others had heard the noises last night, but Thorin nodded at Bilbo and Talaitha. It _had_ been Beorn at the door.

The two of them hung back, in case Beorn or Gandalf returned, as Thorin led the dwarves into the forest to follow the bear prints.

Talaitha kicked at a rock as they rounded the house.

"You told the dwarves that I'm a princess, didn't you."

"I'm sorry, it just slipped out," Bilbo said. "They kept pestering me about why you were wearing a circlet."

Talaitha shrugged. "It's fine. I'd have told them if they'd asked, but I didn't think it was vital information."

"No?"

The fairy arched a curious brow.

"You and Thorin," Bilbo clarified. "I saw you holding hands during the walk to Beorn's house."

"Oh, that," Talaitha sighed. "Don't ask me about that, for I have no answers yet." She stopped and placed a hand on his shoulder. "And please don't tell the others. They need to know they can rely on Thorin, that he's focused on the quest, and I fear I've blundered into the middle of it."

"Perhaps, but he growls and scowls less ever since," Bilbo said, placing a comforting hand on hers.

Talaitha giggled. "Just don't let _him_ hear you say that."

Soon after, the dwarves returned, looking glum.

"No sign of either of them?" Talaitha asked.

Thorin shook his head.

Bilbo sighed. "So what do we do now?"

"We wait."

And wait they did, all the way until sunset, at which time, the door flew open and Gandalf strode in. As he took off his hat and leaned his staff against the wall, Talaitha greeted him.

"Nice of you to join us."

The wizard regarded her with amusement. "While you've all been resting, I did some investigating." He sat at the table and piled bread, honey, and whipped cream onto his plate. "I followed Beorn's bear tracks and came upon many more, all headed towards the goblins' mountain."

"What if he leads them to us?" Dori asked anxiously. "I thought he was a friend."

"And so he is!" There was an impatient edge to Gandalf's voice. "Remember, Beorn hates goblins worse than any other creature."

"Will he fight them?" asked Ori.

"He might," the wizard shrugged. "There was a small army of bears accompanying him."

After supper, they were mostly silent, restlessly awaiting Beorn's return. But it was in vain, for the skin-changer was still missing by the time the Company went to bed.

Once again, Talaitha laid awake, staring at the wooden beams above, until she grew tired of them and glanced instead at Thorin's bed. She didn't know if he was asleep, but she tiptoed over to him anyway. He was lying on his side, his back to her.

"Thorin?" she whispered, tentatively placing a hand on his shoulder.

He rolled over, and she was relieved to note that he'd been awake.

"Come." He sat up and gently pulled her down beside him.

She rested her head on his shoulder, like last night, and smiled at their clasped hands in her lap. " _You_ tell me a story tonight."

"It would not be as creative as yours."

"Then tell me a true one."

He was about to protest again, when he felt Talaitha's fingers entwine with his own. The gesture was a simple one, but it silenced whatever objections he'd had and filled his heart with warmth. He would think of a tale.

He told her of Erebor before Smaug attacked, when it was still glittering and magnificent, when the kings and queens of each race, even of the wood elves, came to pledge their respect and support for Thrór, the mightiest of the dwarf kings.

He told her of his younger sister, Dis, about how she used to steal strawberries from the kitchen when she was little; of Frerin, who'd bravely and somewhat foolishly challenged Dwalin to a fight when he was just twelve-years-old. And had nearly won.

Finally, he told her of the forges, where the finest jewelry and weapons were made; of the mines, where rubies and diamonds and emeralds sparkled as far as the eye could see. And he told her of the Arkenstone, the most beautiful gem of all, which had become a symbol of the royal line.

"What happened to it?"

"The dragon has it, along with all the gold and jewels." Thorin tried to keep the anger from his voice, but Talaitha heard it.

She squeezed his hand. "You _will_ defeat Smaug, and when you do, there will once more be a King under the Mountain for the Arkenstone to represent."

Thorin kissed the top of her head, smiling at the ever-present scent of lilacs. He wished he could properly convey his affection towards her, but for the moment, sitting on his bed together would have to suffice.

When he finally fell asleep, he dreamt he and Talaitha were walking along Erebor's halls hand-in-hand. She wore an amethyst crown.


	14. One Step Forward, Two Steps Back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Talaitha have their first argument, and the spiders come.
> 
> Check "Soul Healing Images" for pictures of Talaitha's bow.

A door slammed.

Talaitha jolted awake with the rest of the Company, looking for the source of the noise. They didn't have to search long, for he knelt by the platform and regarded them with amusement.

"So, here you are still." Beorn plucked Bilbo out of bed, laughing at the hobbit's disgruntled mumblings.

Had it not been dawn, perhaps the dwarves would have chuckled, too, but they merely yawned and rubbed the last remnants of sleep from their eyes. All except Thorin, who was already out of bed and standing almost protectively beside Bilbo.

Beorn winked. "I'm glad to see you weren't eaten by wargs or goblins or wicked bears."

"Did you learn anything while you were away?" Gandalf asked.

"Oh yes. For one, that your thrilling tale is true," the skin-changer replied. "And that the goblins are furious, because you killed their king. They have joined with the Pale Orc to hunt you down."

Thorin grimaced, his gaze meeting the wizard's. If the Company encountered Azog again, not even giant eagles could save them this time, for goblins would reach them no matter where they hid. Bilbo swallowed hard when he came to the same conclusion. In fact, all the dwarves looked grim. Talaitha, who appeared to be deep in thought, was the only one unaffected by Beorn's news.

Beorn invited them to breakfast in the garden.

"You must forgive me for not believing your story, but if you, too, lived near the borders of Mirkwood, you would trust no one you didn't know as well as or better than your brother." Then he was cheerful again. "If our meeting has taught me one thing, it is to look more kindly on dwarves. Killed the Great Goblin indeed!"

No one felt the need to point out that it was actually Gandalf who had slain the goblin king. The dwarves had earned the skin-changer's respect and trust. It would have been foolish to jeopardize that by correcting his assumption.

"How did you learn all this?" Bilbo asked.

"I captured one of the goblins, who, after a bit of persuasion, decided to tell me." Beorn smirked, though something feral glinted in his brown eyes.

"Mirkwood," Talaitha said suddenly, garnering confused expressions from the dwarves. "If we go through Mirkwood, the goblins and orcs won't follow."

"Absolutely not," Thorin growled.

But Talaitha wasn't deterred. "They don't like elves, so they'll avoid the forest."

"Make no mistake, young fairy," Beorn cautioned. "The Green Wood is no more. You would be trading one threat for another."

"Yes, but there's also a chance that the elves would aid us," she replied. "I know them, and that could work in our favor."

Gandalf rescued Talaitha from the dwarf king's ire.

"Even without the elves' help, Mirkwood is your best option, for it is quickest." He paused. "Or at least it was last I traveled through it."

Thorin's glare softened, as he considered the wizard's words. Durin's Day was only a month and a half away. They didn't have time to go around the forest.

He bit back a curse, looking as though he'd eaten something bitter.

"We go through Mirkwood."

"Then you shall need all the help I can offer," said Beorn, all humor gone.

#

After breakfast, the skin-changer gave Talaitha a satchel of plants, many of them Nemerean, to restock her healing supplies. He also put three jars of his honey into her bag. For the rest of the Company, he packed enough food to last them weeks, hardy, energy-rich foods such as twice-baked cakes, dried fruits, and nuts. The dwarves appreciated Beorn's help, of course, but how they longed for meat!

The Company followed the skin-changer outside, where he led out fifteen ponies and a horse for Gandalf. Bilbo stared uneasily at the goblin's head impaled on one of the front gate's spikes. At least now he didn't have to ask what Beorn had done with his informant. The trophy had quite the opposite effect on Thorin, who regarded their host with a newfound respect.

"Here are some bows and arrows, though I doubt you will find anything wholesome enough to hunt."

As Beorn offered Talaitha a bow, he noticed one was already strapped to her back.

"A szelemér bow!" he exclaimed. "It is long since I have seen one so beautiful."

And it _was_ beautiful, with its sinuous recurve shape and ornately-painted designs of mythical creatures in blue and gold.

Talaitha nodded her head in thanks and accepted the proffered arrows, for she'd lost hers in the goblin cave.

"You are in good company, for the fairies are as skilled with a bow as the elves."

Talaitha's head snapped up in Thorin's direction, dreading his reaction to Beorn's words. The dwarf king did not disappoint. A fierce scowl accompanied the hatred in his eyes--not hatred for Talaitha, but for being reminded of her shared ancestry with the elves. If he thought too long about it, her elf-like features began to irk him, for even now, he was looking disdainfully at her pointed ears.

The szelemér averted her gaze and tried to blink away the tears, but despite her efforts, one slid down her cheek. Fortunately, no one saw.

The tension, however, _was_ noticed, and Beorn cleared his throat.

"Your way through Mirkwood will be dark, dangerous, and difficult. Water is scarce, and streams are often wicked, particularly the black one that crosses your path. Do not touch its waters, for they will make you sleep and forget."

As the Company climbed into their saddles, Beorn offered one final, important piece of advice.

"Stray not from the path, or it will be your doom." Then, all somberness vanished, and he grinned. "When you reach the forest gate, send back my horse and ponies. I wish you all every manner of luck and speed, and my house is open to you if ever you are in these parts again." He looked pointedly at the fairy, who acknowledged his invitation with a smile, forced though it was.

And then they were off, trotting farther away from the safety of Beorn's home and closer to Smaug. Talaitha's heart tightened with fear--not of the dragon or the twisted creatures that dwelled in Mirkwood.

Of the dwarf king who rode beside the wizard.

#

By evening, the Company skirted the goblins' mountain. They rode in silence, partly to avoid the foul things and partly because they were too sullen for conversation. Even Talaitha, who was normally quite cheerful, sulked in her saddle, which troubled Bilbo. He couldn't even ask her why, for when he whispered to her, she quieted him with a glare.

When dusk fell, they made camp by a stream but didn't dare build a fire. Talaitha volunteered to take the first watch, since she was too restless to sleep, and sat against a tree, huddled in her cloak, staring out into the black forest. An owl perched on a branch, hooting, before unfurling its wings and flying away. No other animals stirred.

Halfway through her watch, she heard footsteps approaching and tensed, her hand clutching Ezüstlélek's hilt. But it was just Thorin who sat down beside her. Neither said anything for minutes. The only sounds were the breeze in the trees, the dwarves' snores, and the slight hitch in Talaitha's breathing as she shivered. Thorin made no move to warm her.

"You should be asleep," said the fairy.

Thorin ignored her suggestion.

"You must know Thranduil very well if you believe your presence amongst us will elicit a kind welcome."

"I do," she replied. "Not nearly as well as Elrond, but well enough to anticipate his greeting towards me."

She didn't have to see Thorin's face to discern his sneer, for it colored his voice.

"I suppose you look enough like an elf to earn their friendship."

He waited for a response, for something to goad her into an argument so he could vent his frustrations. But she was silent, and that prompted him to say something he would later regret.

"And perhaps even more."

The slap to his cheek was an ugly surprise in the darkness.

"How did you...?" he asked, grabbing her wrist before she could pull away.

"Like I said," she spat. "The szelemér were created from elves, so we have superior eyesight to dwarves."

That was a dangerous thing to say, for Thorin was already angry. Now he yanked Talaitha closer and gripped her other wrist before she could hit him again. She struggled against him, but he held her firmly.

"Why do you insist on reminding me of that fact?" he snarled, though something akin to desperation laced his tone.

"Because I am proud of my ancestry," she answered. "And you didn't seem to mind it either when you kissed me."

His hold on her arms loosened, as he remembered how soft and sweet her lips had been against his, how endearingly she'd blushed after their first kiss. Those thoughts were quickly overshadowed by the memory of her pointed ears, and his grip tightened. But whatever cruel remark he'd planned died in his throat when he felt her take a deep, shaky breath.

"But I guess you won't be doing that again," she whispered, and he knew a tear had slid down her cheek. "Now that you've insinuated I'm nothing more than an elf's whore."

Her accusation stung worse than the slap to his cheek, and this time when she tried to pull away, he let her, his arms dropping limply to his sides. He heard her stand and walk towards the group, trying to quiet her sobs.

Thorin Oakenshield sat against the tree for the remainder of the night, not bothering to wake Dwalin for his watch. An internal battle silently raged, making his heart simultaneously ache for and turn cold towards the fairy.

#

The bright morning did nothing to soothe the tension between Talaitha and Thorin, who rode on opposite ends of the procession. Talaitha was beside Bilbo near the back, while Thorin led with Gandalf. The wizard had noticed their abrupt emotional and physical distance, and he suspected its cause was Thorin's jealousy of Talaitha's easy friendships with the elves, and now with Beorn. He hoped that by the time the Company encountered the elves, the two would be reconciled, for if they sensed the tension between Talaitha and Thorin, the dwarves would be treated less kindly.

Bilbo, too, had deduced the reason for their rift, but none of the others had. They'd attributed their avoidance of each other to the grim mood that had settled over the Company as they neared Mirkwood. And when Thorin periodically glanced back, they thought he was just making sure everyone was accounted for.

They decided to push on through the night. Sometime after midnight, the shadowy form of a great bear prowled amongst the trees, keeping pace with the Company. Talaitha shifted in her saddle as the bear rose on its hind legs, seemingly staring right at them.

"I think he's watching out for us," she said softly, but most of the group had heard her in the silent night.

"Or stalking us like prey," Glóin muttered.

#

On the fourth day, the land began to slope upwards, and the birds had stopped chirping. By afternoon, they'd reached the gate of Mirkwood, beyond which they could see huge, ugly trees with dark leaves and gnarled branches.

"And so we've arrived," said Gandalf. His cheerful tone was misplaced in the gloom of the impending forest. "This is where I leave you. I am certain we will meet again before all this is over, but then again, we may not. That depends on your luck, courage, and sense." He looked meaningfully at Bilbo, Thorin, and Talaitha.

"I wish you were coming with us," lamented the hobbit. The fairy silently agreed.

"As do I, if only to see you safely to the other side."

When Talaitha walked over to the wizard, he dismounted. Crouching, he embraced her and smiled fondly as she kissed his cheek.

"Stay safe, Szürkevándorló."

"You, too, my dear," Gandalf replied, then leaned close. "Give him time."

Her look of surprise was the last thing he saw, as he turned his horse around and galloped back towards Beorn's house. Talaitha watched until he was nothing more than a gray dot, then helped unpack the ponies, before they, too, returned home.

The bags were distributed as fairly as possible, though the dwarves had insisted Bilbo and Talaitha carry the two lightest. She didn't bother protesting and had silenced Bilbo when he'd tried. An argument would just delay them, and the sooner they entered Mirkwood, the sooner they'd be out of it.

As they stood by the gate, peering into the sinister forest, Bilbo balked.

"Do we really have to go in there?"

Bofur clapped him on the shoulder. "It's too late to turn back. There's nothing for it now."

"No, no, that's not what I meant," the hobbit corrected. "I meant is there no convenient path around it?"

"Gandalf said going through Mirkwood is quickest," said Talaitha. "Besides, if you went around it, you'd encounter the Grey Mountains, which are rife with goblins and orcs."

"Wood elves are hardly better," Thorin murmured.

"Then try your luck with the orc-kind," she said, the slight edge to her voice belying her neutral expression.

When none of the dwarves moved, Talaitha pushed open the gate and strode into the forest, suppressing the chill that ran down her spine, as the oppressive shadows bore down upon her. Reluctantly, and somewhat ashamedly because a woman was braver than they, the rest of the Company followed, walking single-file on the narrow path. The canopy of trees was so dense that sunlight barely filtered through it, and the deeper they delved, the more sickly the forest became.

Then they reached the reddish trees that oozed a thick, black sap.

"Something has poisoned them," Talaitha breathed in shock. Before anyone could stop her, she leaned over the edge of the path and touched the nearest red tree's trunk, careful to avoid the sap.

"Yet they do not die."

Her ominous tone worried Bilbo, and the dwarves glanced uneasily at the trees. They quickened their pace and only relaxed once they'd left the eerie trees behind them.

A grunting sound startled the Company, but all they saw were black squirrels, which were too small to make the noise. Huge cobwebs hung on the trees surrounding the path, but none crossed it. Talaitha wondered if a spell kept them at bay. She hoped so, for that same spell would protect them as long as they remained on the trail.

They trudged on, grumbling and cursing at the lack of a breeze that would have made the dank, still, and decaying air more bearable. Talaitha wasn't surprised that Bilbo was miserable, but when even the dwarves complained about the cave-like forest, she knew it was bad, for they were accustomed to sunless and windless spaces. She tried to keep her spirits high by thinking of all the people and places she loved, but that just reminded her of her bright Nemere, and she felt like she was slowly suffocating.

She hated Mirkwood even worse than the mountains, which was saying something.

#

Their first night was awful. It was so dark that they could barely see their own hands in front of their faces, but they had no trouble seeing the glinting, evil eyes that watched them from above and around. They had a brief respite from the darkness when they made a fire, but bats and black moths as large as their hands were soon attracted to it. They quickly stamped it out, but the number of yellow eyes had increased. Bilbo was particularly disturbed by the big, bulbous ones that stared down at them.

"Those are not animal eyes," he said.

Nori, who was an experienced hunter, agreed. "Not any animal's I've ever seen."

When they finally slept, they did so near each other. Talaitha was hugged between Kili and Fili, but she didn't mind, for they kept her warm. She dreamt of the bulbous eyes and was just about to see their owner, when she was shaken awake by Fili.

"Rise and shine, Laitha." He handed her one of Beorn's twice-baked cakes for breakfast.

Although they were still hungry, their uncertainty about the size of the forest forced them to ration the food and water. For the next week, they trekked glumly during the day and slept restlessly at night, while their provisions dwindled and the forest stretched on.

One afternoon, Thorin pulled Talaitha away from the others.

"I thought you said you've been through Mirkwood before." His voice was harsh and bordering on accusatory.

"I have," she snapped. "But I also said that was when it was still the Green Wood. I don't recognize _this_ forest."

Excited shouts drew their attention. Kili had shot a black squirrel. Nori unsheathed his knife to skin it, but Talaitha stopped him. When she touched the animal, she recoiled.

"Poisoned."

"Damn this place!" Dwalin cursed and threw the squirrel into the trees beyond the path. Something scuffled towards it in the fallen leaves.

"Obviously not poisoned enough," Bilbo quipped.

#

A few days later, they reached the black stream Beorn had warned them about. A thick fog had descended onto the forest, obscuring the dwarves' vision, and to make matters worse, the bridge that had once spanned the stream was now rotted and useless.

"How are we to cross?" Ori despaired.

Talaitha tapped the hobbit's shoulder and pointed to the far bank.

"There's a boat!" said Bilbo.

Thorin regarded her with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "Since you have the keenest eyesight, tell us how far away it is."

Talaitha stared passively at him for a few seconds, then joined Bilbo at the edge of the stream.

"About twelve yards."

"That's as good as a mile!" said Dori.

"We can't jump it, and we daren't try to swim," Balin agreed.

Thorin sighed impatiently. "We'll throw a rope with a hook on it and pull it to us."

"What's the good of that? It's surely tied," Glóin protested.

"It isn't." Talaitha's voice was soft, and they barely heard it. She met Thorin's gaze, before he looked away and nodded curtly at Kili.

The youngest of Durin's line stood beside Talaitha and peered into the distance.

"I see it. Someone bring me a rope."

He quickly tied a hook to the end, balanced it, and flung it across the stream. He overshot it by a couple feet, but Talaitha guided him.

"Draw it back gently. Good, the hook's caught on the boat. Now give it a tug."

The rope went taut, and the boat lurched forward. Fili helped Kili pull it to their side, while Talaitha found two long branches with which they could row and steer, since the oars were missing.

"Bilbo, Talaitha, you cross with me," said Thorin, climbing into the boat after the hobbit and szelemér. "The rest of you follow no more than three at a time. Bombur, cross last and alone."

The fat dwarf looked aggravated, but Thorin's glare silenced any protest he considered making. Talaitha felt sorry for the dwarf, but Thorin was right. Bombur's weight alone was equal to that of two dwarves.

The going was slow, but eventually, they all landed safely on the other side. Now only Bombur remained, and it seemed like he, too, would make it.

Until mayhem broke loose.

A large buck jumped onto the bank where the dwarves stood, knocking some of them to the ground. Talaitha managed to duck the front hooves, while Thorin shot him as he leapt across the stream. The buck stumbled and collapsed on the opposite bank. The dwarves cheered at their good fortune, for he looked healthy and could be reached with the boat.

Then Bilbo's frantic shout doused their optimism. Bombur had fallen into the black stream and was drowning. They threw a rope to him, which he caught, and hauled him to shore, but he was already asleep with a smile on his plump face.

"Curse the clumsy oaf," Dwalin grumbled. "Now we'll have to carry him."

"And the boat broke when he fell onto it," said Kili, staring at the splintered wood of the stern.

Fili sighed. "No venison after all."

As soon as the words left his mouth, a horn sounded, and white does and fawns appeared through the bushes. The dwarves aimed their bows.

"No! Don't shoot!" Talaitha placed herself between the dwarves and the deer. "They're mothers with their babies."

"We need food, lass," said Balin.

Talaitha stood her ground. "Then we shall find it elsewhere."

The dwarves acquiesced, albeit gracelessly and with plenty of grumbling. Thorin regarded her with veiled admiration, for although she'd ruined an easy meal, she'd also stood by her principles against thirteen armed dwarves. And it had reminded him of all the times he had received her affection and kindness, even when he hadn't deserved them. He mentally kicked himself for allowing his hatred of elves to poison everything they'd shared since meeting in Bag End.

She was watching him, too, though with a glint in her eyes that dared him to chide her for her actions. But he wouldn't. He couldn't. So he surprised her by nodding his head once, before slinging Bombur's right arm over his shoulder and carrying him with Dwalin, Bifur, and Bofur.

For five days, the dwarves alternated groups of four to bear their slumbering comrade. During one of their respites, they heard laughter, pleasant, musical laughter that could only belong to one race.

"Elves!"

Talaitha stopped and gazed in the direction from which the mirthful sounds came. Soon, an eerily beautiful song followed.

"We should go to them."

Thorin glanced at Fili, who touched the fairy's arm and gently said, "We have to stay on the path."

Talaitha nodded, but she looked disappointed. "Yes, of course. Lead on."

The trail went downhill from there, leading into a section of oaks, which looked healthier than the previous trees. However, this was little comfort to the Company, for trees of any kind meant they were still in the forest.

"Bilbo, climb the tallest oak and tell us what you see," said Thorin. He hoisted the hobbit onto a branch and watched him scale the tree with a hitherto unseen speed. It seemed he, too, was anxious to be rid of Mirkwood.

Ten minutes later, Bilbo dropped to the ground, panting. "As far as I could see, the forest goes on in all directions."

He wisely did not mention the butterflies that flitted in the tree tops, as Thorin and the others cursed harshly in Khuzdul. Talaitha gave an exasperated sigh and started walking down the path again, sparing a single glance over her shoulder when she heard the dwarves fall in line behind her.

#

The next morning, they ate the last of their food and were nearing the bottom of their water skins. However, a small bit of fortune smiled upon them, for it had begun to rain. They caught some droplets on their tongues, which helped to quench their thirst, but as quickly as the shower came, it also went.

Then they heard a groan. Bombur had finally awoken, though his complaints about his hunger and thirst almost made the Company wish he hadn't. He'd also forgotten everything that had happened since Bag End and barely believed the sequence of events his companions recounted.

"I suppose that's no stranger than the dreams I had," he said at last. "I was walking through a forest quite like this one, but it was lit with torches, lamps, and fires. In a large clearing, a grand feast was going on, and an elf king with a crown of leaves sat at the head."

Talaitha's eyebrows furrowed. "Thranduil wears such a crown."

Thorin scowled, but Bombur ignored it. "I don't care who it was, for there were so many things to eat and drink that I cannot describe them all."

"You need not try," Bilbo grumbled, his stomach gurgling with hunger.

Before Thorin could bark out orders to move on, Kili, who was farthest ahead, exclaimed, "Look, there are lights!"

And sure enough, they saw glowing, reddish-orange dots appear in the distance. Fires. Fires meant people, and people meant food.

"It's like in my dream!" Bombur started towards the lights and was about to step off the path, when Thorin pulled him back.

"What good would a feast be if we do not return from it?"

"What good is continuing if we'll just starve?" Bilbo countered.

Balin, as usual, was the voice of reason.

"Don't forget what Beorn said. If we stray off the path, we may never find it again."

Yet the others protested, and in the end, they decided they'd all investigate the fires. That way, even if they _did_ get lost, at least they'd be together.

The nearer they crept to the lights, the stronger the scent of roast meat and spices. It wasn't long before Bombur's hunger got the better of him. When he ran into the clearing, the fires were extinguished, plunging the Company into darkness. Only Talaitha could see clearly enough to gather the others. She found Bilbo first, taking his hand and leading him to Kili, who took the hobbit's hand, until all the dwarves were linked and following Talaitha further into the forest.

The fires sprang up again, but this time, they approached more cautiously. Bombur managed to restrain himself, though he yearned to rush in.

"Bilbo, go talk to the elves and see if they'll give you food and water," said Thorin. "The rest of us will wait here."

Talaitha gave Thorin a measured look. "I think it'd be better if I go. After all, I look enough like the elves to earn their friendship."

So she had yet to forgive him for his callous insinuation. He regretted it, of course, but he couldn't show it in front of his men.

"You will remain here." His tone was firm in its finality.

The fairy clenched her jaw but said nothing. The others were surprised by Thorin's treatment of her, for until they had entered Mirkwood, he had considered and even welcomed her suggestions. And though they would never admit it, they believed that in this case, Talaitha was right.

Bilbo walked nervously into the circle of lights, but he didn't get a chance to talk, for the fires went out a second time. Talaitha found everyone again, but now the elves seemed to have disappeared. The Company settled down to wait.

They sat in the pitch blackness for hours, long enough that some of the dwarves dozed off. Talaitha yawned, struggling to stay awake. She felt a dwarf's hand gently pull her closer, and she didn't resist when her head fell onto his shoulder. Before she drifted to sleep, the scent of pipe smoke, something faintly musky, and the earth reached her nose.

An indeterminate time later, Talaitha awoke to Thorin's voice.

"They're back."

He was already standing, and she wondered if he'd slept at all.

When they reached the clearing, they stared in amazement at the feast, which looked just like Bombur had described. There sat Thranduil, with a crown of orange leaves upon his golden hair. Elves sang and played harps, while bowls of mouth-watering food were passed around the tables.

Suddenly, the fires were extinguished a third time, though the Company was still hidden. Talaitha vaguely saw the dwarves' puzzled faces, but she was more concerned about Bilbo, who had gone missing. She searched in the darkness, not daring to call out to him in case foul creatures lurked nearby.

"Can you not see him?" asked Thorin.

"Of course I can," she snapped. "I'm just letting him stumble around in the dark alone."

"Our little minx has claws," said Kili, the smirk audible in his voice.

She sighed and sat down. "I'm sorry. I'm as tired of this awful forest as the rest of you."

"Traveling through it was your suggestion," Dori pointed out.

"Yes, I know," she replied. "And I still believe it's faster than fighting off hordes of orcs and goblins in the mountains. I'm just frustrated that I'm useless."

Her dejected tone surprised the dwarves, for Talaitha was often the one who bucked up everyone else's spirits with her ready smile and dry humor. Now they felt obliged to return the favor.

"You can see things we can't," said Ori. "Like right now. I bet you can see me, but I can't see you."

"And if you hadn't known the squirrel I shot was poisoned, we'd have eaten it and might've been sick," Kili added.

Thorin wished he could voice his own praise, but he was too hungry, tired, thirsty, and irritated to think of anything complimentary about her, especially after their argument. He cared for her, but he couldn't silence that nagging whisper in the back of his mind, reminding him that she felt a special fondness for elves. If he'd have been honest with himself, he'd realize it was fear that prompted him to treat her so unkindly--fear that there was no room for him in her heart. But it was easier to blame her for being friends with his people's enemy.

"You didn't make fun of me for falling into the black stream."

Bombur's comment elicited laughter, easing the tension. Talaitha was glad her giggles masked the hitch in her breath, for the dwarves' kindness had brought tears of gratitude. She turned her head and Thorin was looking in her direction, though she knew he couldn't see her in the dark. But she could see him, could see his conflicted expression, yet still she could not forgive him for what he'd said.

After some discussion, it was decided that nothing more could be done to locate Bilbo that night, even with Talaitha's sharp vision, so the Company would wait until morning. They huddled together and fell into a fitful sleep.

The spiders arrived so quietly that no one heard them.

Talaitha awoke when she felt something hairy and heavy wrap around her waist. Thinking it was one of the dwarves' arms, she pushed it off, then froze. It was much too large and prickly to be a dwarf's arm. Steeling herself, she forced her gaze up and screamed at what she saw. A huge, black spider towered above her, its great fangs dripping venom that splashed onto Fili's chest beside her.

Her shriek woke the dwarves and aggravated the spiders, who began snatching up the dwarves. They were as terrified as she was, though they couldn't see their attackers. They blindly tried to dodge the spiders' prodding legs, not risking using their weapons for fear of striking a friend.

"What are they?" Talaitha heard Dori cry.

"Giant spiders!" she shouted and managed to slice off a leg of the one following her.

Now that the dwarves knew their foe, they, too, began slashing at the legs. Talaitha spotted Thorin and ran towards him, but before she could reach him, a spider hoisted her into the air. Her scream distracted the dwarf king long enough for him to be captured also, but he was more concerned about Talaitha. Her yell had been one of pain, not fear. His heart sank when he felt the spider's fangs pierce the skin of his arm. His last thought before he succumbed to the venom was that they were doomed.

And that he wished he could have kissed Talaitha one last time before they died.


	15. Sustenance of the Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reconciliation. And Thorin confronts the woodland king. 
> 
> Thranduil calls Talaitha _Gwinelloth_ , which is the Sindarin translation of the Hungarian _borvirág_ (borage), her epithet. Thus, "gwin" means "wine" and "elloth" means "flower." I took some liberties with Mirkwood, because I don't know how to write high dwarves.

A pallid morning dawned, as Talaitha awoke from the venom-induced sleep. The first sensation that hit her was an intense nausea, followed by disgust when she felt the sticky webbing around her. She was so tightly wrapped that she could barely breathe, let alone reach into her belt for her daggers to cut the bindings. So she hung, trying to suppress her panic and the urge to vomit, hoping that Bilbo had not suffered the same fate.

As luck would have it, he had not. A commotion below alerted her to the hobbit's presence, though she did not yet know it was him. Bilbo had invisibly entered the clearing in which she and the dwarves were suspended and drew away the spiders long enough for him to climb up the tree to free the Company. He started with Fili, who was nearest, then proceeded further along the branch, while the dwarf freed his comrades on the opposite branch.

Talaitha's cocoon shook, and suddenly, the tip of a blade appeared through the webbing, cutting a hole large enough for her to fit through. As she emerged, she saw her rescuer.

"Bilbo!" she croaked, then coughed, wincing at how dry her throat was from thirst and disuse.

The hobbit helped her onto the branch, looking behind him to make sure she didn't fall off it. Still disoriented from the spider venom, Talaitha nearly did twice but managed to crawl to the trunk. She was climbing down slowly, her arms shaking from the effort, when she felt large, strong hands lift her to the ground. She looked up at the dwarf.

It was Thorin, and he caught her as she stumbled on uncertain legs.

"Easy now."

"Thank you," said Talaitha, her voice still rough. She walked a few feet, then vomited into the bushes. Thorin rubbed her back soothingly, and her cheeks flushed in embarrassment when she realized she was the only one who'd become sick.

The dwarf king seemed to sense her thoughts, for he tilted up her chin so that their gazes met. "You are much smaller, and that is nothing to be ashamed about." He placed a soft kiss upon her forehead, before leaving to help free the remaining dwarves.

Although they didn't react as violently to the spider venom as Talaitha had, they, too, felt sore and unsteady, a fact which didn't bode well when the spiders returned. They chattered angrily and charged the dwarves, who fought back as well as their current state allowed. Thorin tried to keep the spiders away from Talaitha, but a particularly large one was skittering towards her.

The szelemér stood, clutching Ezüstlélek's hilt like it was a lifeline, and slashed warningly. The spider paused long enough for Thorin to hack into its abdomen from behind. A thick, greenish-yellow fluid seeped from the wound, and the spider turned on the dwarf, but he drove Orcrist into one of its eyes before it could attack. With a shriek, the spider crumpled to the ground.

But there were many more to take their fallen kin's place, so many that the dwarves couldn't hope to defeat them all. While Thorin desperately racked his mind for a plan, the dwarves huddled near him. In the end, it was Bilbo who thought of a solution.

"I'm going to disappear and draw off the spiders," he said urgently. "Run in the opposite direction, to the left, where we last saw the elf fires."

Talaitha's brows rose skeptically, mirroring the dwarves' reactions.

"You're going to disappear?"

"I don't have time to explain now. Go!"

And then the hobbit vanished, like he'd said he would.

Thorin helped Talaitha to her feet and snaked an arm around her waist to keep her steady while they ran. They reached the site of the last elf fire, where the spiders daren't go.

A half-hour passed, and the Company was growing worried that the spiders had caught Bilbo, when he appeared in the center of the clearing. Talaitha jumped to her feet and hugged her friend, the effects of the venom long gone.

"You're wonderful, do you know that?"

Bilbo looked down at his feet, shrugging nonchalantly.

"It was nothing."

"It was something," said Thorin, with a smile. He placed a hand on the hobbit's shoulder and squeezed it in thanks.

The dwarves gathered around, wanting to know how he'd disappeared. Bilbo looked hesitant, then resigned. With a sigh, he sat down in the grass and told them his tale.

"While you were taken by the goblins, I'd fallen into a cave, where I met a gangly, ugly creature who might've once been a hobbit. I have no idea what his name was, but he kept mumbling something that sounded like 'gollum,' so I'll call him that."

"What makes you think he was a hobbit?" Talaitha asked. She was sitting against a tree, idly pulling bits of spider web from her hair.

"He was about the right height and had large feet and pointed ears," Bilbo answered. "He dropped this." The hobbit opened his hand palm-side up. In the middle of it sat a gold ring. "When I put it on, it makes me invisible."

He demonstrated.

Talaitha's brows furrowed, and the fingers that had been combing through her hair stilled. Something wasn't right about that ring. Although it looked like an ordinary gold ring, she felt a power emanating from it, but whether it was sinister or not, she couldn't fathom.

Thorin noticed the change in her demeanor and looked at her with curious eyes, but she merely shook her head and smiled. There was no point in needlessly worrying him, for she couldn't sense anything immediately threatening about the ring.

The hobbit tucked the ring back into his pocket and continued his story.

"We played a game of riddles. If I won, he'd lead me out of the caves. If he won, he'd eat me."

Talaitha chided the hobbit for making such a foolish deal, while the dwarves chuckled.

"I obviously had no intention of letting him win!" Bilbo said hotly. "Anyway, I'd won the game fairly, but Gollum attacked me, and while I was fleeing him, I saw all of you running out of the mountain."

"That's why you seemed to appear out of nowhere," said Fili.

"Because you were wearing the ring," his brother concluded.

The hobbit nodded, glancing at Thorin.

"It appears Mr. Baggins is finally becoming our burglar," Balin said, with a wink.

The dwarves thumped Bilbo on the back amidst a chorus of cheers. Talaitha smiled fondly at the hobbit's astonished face, for it bore the same expression as when Thorin had embraced him on the Carrock.

The dwarf king met Talaitha's gaze and nodded. She had predicted that this would happen, that Bilbo would grow into the burglar the Company needed. Her faith in others, in the hobbit particularly, had seemed foolish to him when he'd first met her. But now it was refreshing, and he felt it trickling to him, chasing away some of his suspicions.

He was changing as a result of his interactions with the fairy. And he wasn't sure how he felt about that.

#

The Company's elation at escaping the spiders was quickly doused when they couldn't find the path. They'd been trudging in what they believed was the right direction but had yet to spy anything familiar, and they feared they were horribly lost.

To make matters worse, they were now so thirsty that they could barely swallow. They were becoming disoriented, and their heads throbbed with every step. Talaitha knew they'd die of dehydration in less than a day if they didn't find water.

Suddenly, elves leapt from the trees, and over a dozen arrows were pointed at them. The dwarves drew their weapons, but Talaitha held up her hands to show she was no threat. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Bilbo hide behind Thorin and vanish, before a familiar, blond elf approached them.

"And what are _dwarves_ doing in these parts?" the elf asked coldly, glancing at each of the Company for an answer. When his cerulean eyes passed over the fairy, they widened. "Talaitha!"

She walked forward, but Thorin grabbed her arm.

"No," he hissed.

Legolas aimed an arrow at his chest. "Do not think I won't kill you, Dwarf."

"Thorin, I think you should let me go," Talaitha said, warily eyeing the arrow's sharp tip.

Thorin cursed in Khuzdul but released her, his stormy gaze never leaving the blond elf. It hardened when Talaitha touched the elf's arm.

"Legolas, these dwarves come in peace," she said softly. "We're hungry, thirsty, and lost."

The elf glanced at her but didn't lower his bow.

"You, melonin, are welcome, of course, but we do not take kindly to strangers." His tone was harsh again, as he met Thorin's furious glare. "Especially not dwarves."

Thorin looked like he wanted nothing more than to strangle Legolas, but he managed to restrain himself. However, his hand twitched on Orcrist's hilt.

"Is it not enough assurance that I travel with them?" she asked, green eyes imploring the elf.

Legolas sighed and lowered his bow, motioning for the elves to do the same. At Talaitha's nod, the dwarves reluctantly relaxed their hold on their weapons, though they didn't put them down.

"You know their fate is not mine to decree," said Legolas. "They must be taken before the king. Blindfold them."

Talaitha worried her lower lip, concerned about how the dwarves would react.

"Is that really necessary? This forest has become so strange that I doubt they'd find their way back."

"I cannot take any chances."

Legolas' reply was brusque, and he approached Thorin, who raised his sword.

"Thorin, don't," she pleaded. "I promise none of you will be hurt."

She looked pointedly at Legolas, who nodded and said, "Provided you come peacefully."

The dwarf king realized he had little choice. Even if the Company managed to get in a few swings, the elves' arrows would strike them down before they could cause any real harm. And so, when Legolas tied a black cloth around his eyes, he didn't fight it, though every muscle in his body screamed at him to. The Company followed his lead, with equal displeasure.

Legolas turned to Talaitha, a smirk on his lips. "Do I need to blindfold you, too?"

"No," she grumbled, walking beside him as the elves led the dwarves through the forest. She wondered if Bilbo was trailing them and hoped that he'd remain as invisible to the elves' ears as he was to their eyes.

They crossed a bridge that spanned a dark and fast-flowing river, then passed through large, metal gates that guarded the mouth of a cave. Talaitha stared at the steep, tree-covered slope in surprise. Elves who lived underground? That was unheard of.

"You've moved."

Legolas nodded, his expression grim. "When the Eryn Lasgalen became sick, it was no longer safe to be so unprotected."

She knew he meant it was no longer safe to be out in the open, with only trees as cover. The cave was ideal because the spiders couldn't fit into it. Yet for all its practicality, she couldn't imagine the elves actually enjoyed living underground.

But when they entered the cave, it didn't feel like they were underground. The passages twisted, crossed, and echoed, but they were brightly lit with lamps and torches, and the air was clean and fresh. If Talaitha didn't know better, she'd think they'd exited Mirkwood altogether, for even the surrounding rock walls were less oppressive than that foul forest.

"Which dwarf is the leader?" asked Legolas, halting at a fork in the path.

Talaitha pointed at Thorin. Legolas ushered her and the blindfolded king down the right path, while the elves led the rest of the dwarves down the left. She wanted to ask where they were being taken, but she feared her question would rile Thorin, and he was edgy enough as it was.

The trio entered through great, stone doors into a hall with pillars hewn from the rock surrounding them. Candles and torches bathed the room with warmth and light, centering on the ornate, wooden throne. A solemn, regal elf, wearing a crown of red leaves, sat upon it.

"You found them, then," the elf king remarked. "Remove the dwarf's blindfold."

Legolas did, and when Thorin's eyes had adjusted to the light, he stared at Thranduil with unabashed hatred. The elf king met his glare stoically, though Talaitha knew he, too, was displeased. During her stays with the wood elves, before the forest had turned dark, Thranduil had blamed Smaug's arrival on the dwarves' obsession with treasure.

The elf king was the first to break the tense silence.

"Thorin, son of Thráin, how long it has been."

"You mean since you betrayed my people?" the dwarf king spat.

Thranduil's gaze was icy, as he replied, "I warned your grandfather about his lust for gold and jewels. Erebor's destruction is no one's fault but his own."

Thorin drew Orcrist, and over a dozen arrows were aimed at his chest. Talaitha could feel the fury radiating from him, and for a few, awful seconds, she thought he would attack Thranduil. Then he lowered his blade, but not his gaze, from the elvenking.

"Where are my kin?"

"They have been taken to the dungeons," Thranduil said lightly. "Fear not. They are and shall remain unharmed."

"I am to trust an elf's word?" the dwarf king growled. "The elf who pledged alliance to my grandfather, then left us to the dragon?"

"And what help did the dwarves offer when Sauron terrorized Middle-earth? They hid in their mountains with their gold!"

Thorin gripped Orcrist's hilt so tightly that his knuckles were white, but he held back, albeit with difficulty. Talaitha decided to step in. This rehashing of old conflicts was neither productive nor wise.

"My lord," she said, standing before Thranduil and bowing her head. "We have not come to argue."

The elf king's gaze shifted to the fairy, and though it softened slightly, some distrust remained.

"Talaitha Gwinelloth, if not to argue, then why have you come to Mirkwood?"

Talaitha glanced at Thorin, saw his blue eyes glint with a warning to keep the quest secret. Because she couldn't think of a convincing lie as to why the dwarves were in the forest, she omitted them completely from her reply.

Thorin would think of something, she hoped.

"I'm traveling to Rhûn, and Mirkwood seemed the quickest route there." Her tone was somber. "I hadn't realized how much the Green Wood had deteriorated. I don't recognize the forest anymore, which is why we were lost."

A wave of dizziness overtook her, and she leaned against a pillar to steady herself. Both Legolas and Thorin stepped forward to help her and sprang apart when their hands touched. Thranduil's brow furrowed slightly, then he nodded to the elf standing by the door. He returned with a pitcher of water and three goblets, which he filled and handed to Legolas, Thorin, and Talaitha.

She drank greedily, her parched throat soothed by the cool liquid. Thorin, however, was more cautious, sniffing the water before taking a sip. He was thirsty but not thirsty enough to risk being enchanted or poisoned. His suspicions were eased by the fact that both Legolas and Talaitha drank the same water. Surely Thranduil wouldn't harm his own son, or the woman his son seemed fond of. When he didn't feel any adverse effects, he grudgingly accepted a refill, for his throat was still painfully dry.

"Now you will answer my questions, Dwarf," Thranduil commanded. "Why did your folk spy on my people?"

"We weren't spying," Thorin said flatly. "We hoped for food and drink."

"What is your purpose in Mirkwood?"

"To find food and drink, because we were starving and thirsty."

"You lie." The elf king's voice as sharp as the blade that hung at his hip. "What is your purpose in Mirkwood?"

Thorin set his jaw and glared at the elf. When Thranduil leapt from his throne and advanced on him in two long strides, he held his ground, meeting the taller king's gaze.

"You have a final chance to answer my question," he warned coldly.

But Thorin remained silent.

Talaitha cursed his obstinacy, for it had just sealed his and his kin's lodgings in the dungeons.

"Take him away."

Five elves stepped forward to take Orcrist and bind Thorin's wrists, but the dwarf resisted, ignoring Talaitha's insistence not to. Even without his weapons, he put up a good fight, but eventually, he was restrained. Sporting bruises and a cut lip, Thorin was nevertheless in better shape than one of the elves he'd brought down, who was lying unconscious on the floor.

Thranduil regarded the dwarf with a frown.

"You and your kin will rot in the dungeons until you tell me why you are in my realm, or until you perish." His voice was soft but dangerous, leaving no doubt of his sincerity in either Talaitha's or Thorin's mind. "I am patient. I can wait."

The fairy watched helplessly, as a small army of elves escorted Thorin none-too-gently to the dungeons deep within the cave. Before he turned the corner, the dwarf king looked at Talaitha, possibly for the last time, and his heart ached at the distress on her face.

He burned her green eyes--wide with worry--and fiery hair, her soft lips and the feel of her hand in his to memory, for they would be his soul's sustenance for the duration of his imprisonment.


	16. Elf Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No Thorin in this one, but Talaitha and Bilbo hatch a plan to free the dwarves. 
> 
> In the story, I tried to write Thranduil as a mix between the book and the way Lee Pace portrayed him in the film. But I also tried not to make him so hateful, because he's actually done a lot for his people, and he has reason to be a douche about dwarves.

After Thorin was taken away, Thranduil regarded Talaitha with renewed suspicion. He stood and circled her slowly, his sharp, blue eyes surveying her.

"Dwarves seem unlikely traveling companions for a szelemér healer."

"Perhaps," she agreed. "But as you just witnessed, they are skilled warriors. I thought it prudent to join them after I met them on the East-West Road."

Well, that was only half a lie, she thought wryly. After all, Hobbiton _is_ near the road.

"What is their destination?"

Talaitha shrugged. "They never told me, and I never asked. You know how secretive dwarves are."

That was more of a lie, but if she told Thranduil the truth, Thorin might never forgive her. Besides, the dwarves' mission wasn't really the elves' business, especially not _these_ elves'.

"Surely they aren't traveling to Rhûn," Thranduil said dryly, earning a smirk from his son. "Erebor is more likely."

She tried not to show her alarm, as the elf king was watching her closely for a reaction. Raising her eyebrows in surprise, she replied, "For what purpose? Thirteen dwarves cannot hope to defeat the dragon that dwells inside."

Once again, that wasn't a complete lie, for she _had_ been wondering how fifteen would overtake Smaug. And when she'd asked Thorin, he'd glared at her, as if he didn't know either and was irritated to be reminded of the fact.

"Thorin may have an army marching to Erebor," Legolas suggested, leaning against a pillar. "He is the heir of Durin, after all."

Talaitha sat down in a chair near Thranduil's throne. Though she'd quenched her thirst for now, she still felt weak from hunger and was consequently unsteady on her feet.

"I doubt an army of dwarves could march to Erebor without attracting attention," she said. "You'd have received reports of such a sight."

The elf king stared at her with a pensive expression, as though he were trying to read her thoughts, before he nodded curtly.

"Join us for our evening meal and tell us of your recent travels." He beckoned one of the servants. "Show Talaitha to her room."

The elf led her through twisting tunnels, up a spiral staircase to the higher levels of the cave, and to a large, wooden door, beyond which was a spacious room and bathroom.

"I will have clothes brought for you if you wish to bathe," said the elf, his gaze lingering on her tangled hair, still sticky with bits of spider web.

"Thank you," Talaitha replied glumly. She didn't appreciate his scrutiny, for she was well aware of how dirty and ragged she must have looked. For that reason, she avoided the mirror on her way to the bathroom.

She was just about to disrobe, when Bilbo appeared in the bedroom. Talaith jumped in surprised, barely managing to stifle a shriek.

"Damn it, Bilbo! Warn me next time."

"Sorry. I guess I haven't quite got the hang of being invisible yet," he said, flushing when he realized he's nearly seen her naked.

"No, you do that part fine," Talaitha said. "It's the being _visible_ part that needs work."

Bilbo scowled. "Oh, hilarious. I should just leave you and the dwarves to the elves' mercy."

That got Talaitha's attention, but not for the reason the hobbit had intended. "You know a way out?"

He shook his head. "But I can find one. Maybe follow the elves when they leave the cave and bring the dwarves food in the dungeons."

Talaitha sat on the floor, not wanting to soil the fine furniture with her muddy, sticky clothes.

"It has to be out of the way, preferably near the dungeons," she mused aloud. "Although _you_ can disappear, thirteen stout dwarves cannot, so trekking through the tunnels to the entrance is impossible."

"When the elf comes back with your clothes, I'll follow him out and get the lay of the land, as it were."

Talaitha didn't get a chance to reply, for a knock sounded on the door. Bilbo slid on the ring and disappeared, just as Talaitha invited the elf inside. He placed a stack of clothes--breeches, blouses, and gowns--onto her bed and told her he would return in an hour to take her to the dining room.

When she was sure Bilbo was gone, after calling out to him and receiving no reply, she undressed and ran a bath, allowing herself to relax in the hot water for the first time since leaving Beorn's house.

#

"You were not entirely truthful earlier," Legolas murmured, as he sat down beside Talaitha at the table.

The fairy arched a brow and took a sip of wine. She looked calm, but Legolas' comment had made her nervous.

"Oh?"

"Dwarves are secretive, as you mentioned, yet they allowed you to travel with them to their mysterious destination."

"I was going to Rhûn, which, as your father pointed out, was probably not where _they_ were going," Talaitha replied easily, albeit with some help from the Dorwinion wine. "And I suppose they thought my skills as a healer outweighed the risk of my company."

The elf prince was silent for a moment, sipping his own wine. He seemed to believe _that_ part, at least, but she saw lingering uncertainty in his eyes. She knew what his question was going to be before he even voiced it.

"And your relationship with the dwarf king?"

Talaitha shrugged, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible, despite the guilt she felt when she thought about Thorin--angry and bruised--in the dungeons.

"He and I aided each other during our travels," she replied. "In fact, I have come to respect all the dwarves and do not wish to see them harmed."

"I don't understand you, Talaitha," Legolas said, with a shake of his head. "Dwarves are greedy and uncivilized, yet you treat them as friends."

The szelemér girl bristled at that but managed to keep her composure. "I know how the stories depict them," she said. "They can be obdurate and uncouth, yes, but they also defended me when the giant spiders attacked us."

Well, _Thorin_ had defended her, but that was a technicality Legolas need not know. And she hoped the mention of a recent part of their journey would distract him from learning the dwarves' true motive.

The elf prince gave a half-smile. "Yes, I saw the web in your hair." Then he grew somber, his lips forming a thin line. "They are growing ever bolder. Soon, even our influence will no longer be enough to keep them at bay, which is why Father moved us into the caves."

Talaitha was relieved for the change of subject, even if the Green Wood's demise saddened her. She looked back on her visits with the wood elves fondly and was sorry to see their current plight.

"I remember how the forest glowed in the afternoon sunlight, how the leaves glimmered after a light rain."

Legolas' eyes shone with the memories. And with anger. "It was the greatest forest in Middle-earth," he said. "And now we are reduced to cowering in rock while our home festers and rots."

"Mithrandir believes the darkness is caused by evil from Dol Guldur," said Talaitha. "A familiar evil."

The elf's cerulean gaze met hers, his expression grim. "There was a council in Imladris, according to our messengers. Lady Galadriel deems the threat to be real, but Saruman the White dismisses it."

Talaitha was surprised. Surely a great wizard like Saruman would take the news more seriously, especially since he'd been sent to Middle-earth to prevent another Melkor and Sauron. Then again, from Gandalf's stories, the White Wizard had always been haughty and unwilling to take others' advice.

"I'm more inclined to believe Galadriel," she said, choosing her words carefully. She bore Saruman no love, but she would not show that to Legolas. "She's been around for some time, after all."

The elf prince regarded her with amusement, one eyebrow raised. " _That_ is an understatement, melonin."

She grinned and finally turned her attention to the plateful of food in front of her. In her anxiety to avoid divulging Thorin's secret, she'd forgotten how hungry she'd been, but now her stomach grumbled as a reminder.

Legolas laughed softly, and he, too, began eating. The rest of the evening passed pleasantly; Talaitha spoke to many of the elves she'd befriended, and she returned to her room more at ease than she'd felt in a while.

However, her happiness abated when she laid down on the soft bed, reminded of who resided in the dungeons below. The dwarves were sleeping on dirty, hard floors in dank cells, probably with meager rations. And she had no idea where Bilbo was. For all she knew, he could have gotten caught or lost wandering the endless passageways.

Talaitha sighed. She would get little sleep tonight, despite the comfort of her room and bed.

#

The next morning, she awoke to a halfhearted knock on her door. When she opened it, she saw nothing. But she felt a tug on the sleeve of her dressing gown.

"Bilbo Baggins," she hissed, moving inside her room to grant the invisible hobbit entry.

He appeared by the reclining chair, looking tired, as though he hadn't slept much better than she had. Clambering onto the chair, he seemed so small that Talaitha had to feign a yawn to conceal her grin.

"These blasted caves are more confusing than the goblin tunnels," he complained. "I got lost and had to sleep in the armory."

"Did you find the dwarves?" she asked, sitting beside him. It occurred to her that she, too, must look small on the furniture.

Bilbo nodded. "They're not far from the armory."

"Did you talk to them?"

"Of course I did," the hobbit retorted. "Because the elf guards wouldn't think twice about a disembodied voice."

"All right, no need to get snippy." Talaitha fell silent, thinking of how to distract the guards so Bilbo could sneak in and speak to the dwarves. In the end, the only solution seemed to be to persuade Legolas to allow her into the dungeons. That way, she and Bilbo might be able to converse privately with the dwarves.

"I'm friendly with the elf prince," she said. "If he'll take me into the dungeons, the guards might leave us alone with the Company for a while."

The hobbit shrugged. "Well, it's worth a try." Before he could say anything else, his stomach rumbled loudly, causing his cheeks to flush pink.

"Have you even eaten?" Talaitha asked, her brows furrowing in concern.

"A bit. I stole some bread from the kitchens before dinner."

She smirked. "You've come a long way, Master Burglar."

"Oh hush. I had to," he huffed. "I certainly won't be making a habit of it."

"Except, of course, to steal the dwarves' treasure from the dragon."

Bilbo shot her a disgruntled look as his stomach protested again.

"I'll bring breakfast," she said, walking into the bathroom to change into a simple, forest green gown. "Stay here. And if anyone comes in, put on the ring. Your invisibility is probably the dwarves' sole chance of escape."

She went downstairs and only got lost twice trying to find the kitchens. The cooks and maids loaded up a tray with breads, cakes, honey, fruits, jams, milk, and water, eyeing her curiously at the amount of food she'd requested.

"There wasn't much to eat in the forest," Talaitha explained sheepishly, and the elves immediately placed another plate of cakes onto the tray. They knew well how unwelcoming Mirkwood had become.

When she returned to her room, it was empty, until Bilbo saw it was her. They ate breakfast in comfortable silence, each lost in his or her own thoughts. Bilbo was wondering where to sleep that night, while Talaitha fretted about Thorin. Had he gotten into another fight with the guards? Was he near his kin? Were they given enough food and water?

Talaitha was so engrossed in her musings that she only realized Bilbo was speaking to her when he waved his hand in front of her face.

"Sorry. What were you saying?"

"I asked if I could sleep in here," said the hobbit. "This chair is almost like a bed."

"Yes, of course," Talaitha replied. "There's an extra blanket in the wardrobe."

Bilbo regarded her with a knowing expression. "You worry about Thorin."

"I worry about them _all_ ," she corrected. "Being imprisoned by the elves who broke their allegiance to them is probably one of their worst nightmares."

"True, but the elves aren't like trolls or goblins," said Bilbo, trying to reassure Talaitha. "I'm sure they're treating our friends civilly."

"If they really wanted to be civil, they'd let them go," she murmured, then sprang up suddenly. "Put on the ring and follow me. We're going to find Legolas."

#

It took Bilbo and Talaitha nearly an hour to locate the elf prince, but they finally ran into him on his way back from a patrol. His golden hair, which was usually neater than Talaitha's, was as tangled as she'd ever seen it.

"Spiders?" she quipped.

"They ambushed us," Legolas replied dourly. "Three of my guard were badly wounded, so badly that they may not survive."

Talaitha saw her opportunity and went for it. "Take me to them. The only thing I ask for in return is that you allow me to see the dwarves."

The elf regarded her dubiously but could not deny that the szelemér woman's unusual ability might be his kin's only chance. It would sustain their bodies long enough to allow them to heal.

"Very well," he said, beckoning her to follow.

Talaitha glanced behind her and felt Bilbo touch her hand briefly to assure her he was still there. When she entered the healing ward, she cringed at the sight of the elves. One of them had a compound fracture to his thigh bone and probably serious internal injuries as well. Another had been bitten repeatedly, but she knew he'd been injected with enough venom to kill, rather than to incapacitate, like she and the dwarves had been. Yet the third was in the worst shape, for he had a deep and large wound in his side.

Legolas saw her attention linger on the last elf. "He was thrown against a tree hard enough to snap a thick branch, which caused the wound."

The hobbit's hand found hers once more, and she resisted the urge to squeeze it. Talaitha knew he'd never seen such terrible injuries before, and truthfully, she wouldn't have minded the comfort either, for although she was experienced with such sights, she didn't think she could ever become accustomed to them.

Without a word, she walked to the trio's beds and knelt at each of their sides, placing her hands on their chests. She shared her energy with them, giving the third elf a little extra, and watched them carefully for signs of improvement. Soon, their breathing evened out, and their pulses returned to normal.

She moved away to allow the healers access, though she nearly stumbled from dizziness. It seemed she hadn't yet recovered from the dehydration and nutritional deprivation sustained in Mirkwood. Legolas saw the fleeting disorientation on her face and took her arm as they exited the ward.

"You should not have done that," he chided gently.

She waved away his concern with a smile. "My gift is pointless if it is not used."

"Yes, but you forget that I, unlike most, know what that ability costs you when you use it." Talaitha looked up at him when he fell silent and was surprised by the guilt she saw in his eyes. "Especially when you do not possess your full strength."

Legolas spoke the truth, but Talaitha knew better than anyone the limits of her ability, and though what she'd done in the healing ward did indeed affect her more than it normally would have, it still did not affect her _enough_.

"I appreciate your concern," she said, giving his hand a squeeze. "But I am fine."

The elf prince watched her for an instant longer, then called to the guard on the other side of the dungeon door. "She wishes to speak to the prisoners."

The guard looked like he was about to protest, but Legolas headed him off. "She's acquainted with them, so I doubt she is in any danger."

He turned to Talaitha as the door was unlocked. "You have half an hour."

"Thank you." She smiled gratefully and entered the dungeons.

The first thing she saw was Thorin's glare, which was colder than the chilly prison. Suddenly, she wished she'd stayed in her clean, warm room, where no one glowered at her. And to think, she'd actually worried about him!

_Ungrateful dwarf._

With a sigh, she approached his cell, preparing herself for what she knew was going to be a trying conversation.


	17. Captive Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talaitha talks to Thorin in the dungeons. Bilbo is cranky. 
> 
> For those who are curious, pictures of Talaitha's elvish outfits while in Mirkwood can be found in "Soul Healing Images."

"How are you?" Talaitha asked meekly. She fidgeted nervously with her hands, before wrapping them around the cell's bars.

Thorin sat against the wall, unmoving. "I am in an elvish prison. How do you _think_ I am?"

Her gaze swept over him, taking in his cut lip that was beginning to heal, his tattered tunic that had once been royal blue, and the spider web still stuck in his hair. Even now, when he was disheveled and brought low, he exuded pride. She looked at the wooden plate, its contents untouched, and at the empty cup beside it.

"Come here," she said softly, holding out a hand to him. When he didn't move, she added, "Please?"

Thorin glanced at her, curiosity mingling with his anger, and did as she bade. He stood rigidly by the bars, his gaze fixed on a spot above her head. When she traced his lower lip with her finger, lingering on the cut, he bit back a groan. The digit was soft and gentle, reminding him of the feel of her lips upon his. Her hands moved to his hair, plucking the strands of web from it and combing through the tangles. The gesture was so comforting that he nearly sighed in bliss, but that almost-reaction was enough to sober him. He grasped her hands and pulled them away.

"I neither desire nor require your attentions," he spat. "Return to your beloved elves."

Talaitha wrenched her arms free, hurt flickering across her face, before her expression turned dark. "You are a fool," she hissed. "Bilbo and I came down here to tell you we are searching for a way to get you out."

The dwarf's eyes held doubt, until Bilbo, still invisible, joined them. "It's true. I can sneak through the caves, and Talaitha can get information."

Thorin's gaze flitted between the fairy and the area from which the hobbit's voice came, his anger lessening now that he knew they wouldn't just abandon him and his kin.

"The others are farther down the hall," he said to Bilbo, far more kindly than he'd spoken to Talaitha. "Tell them what you told me."

When he heard the others' voices mingling with the hobbit's, he looked at the fairy, his stormy gaze catching hers. "You and the elf prince..."

"Are just friends," she said, with a hint of impatience. "If we were anything more, do you really think I'd be down here with you now?"

He watched her, his expression unreadable, until Talaitha looked down. His demeanor and voice softened.

"They are treating you well?"

"Better than you," she quipped, smiling slightly.

She was worried he would take offense to her double meaning, but he wrapped his hands around hers on the bars and allowed the corners of his lips to lift in the barest of smiles.

"Then that is all that matters."

And it was. As long as Talaitha was safe, he could bide his time in the dungeons. The elves provided more than enough food and water to survive, while the fairy and hobbit thought of a way to break them free.

#

Over the next few days, Bilbo sneaked around the caves and followed hunting parties past the gates but could not find a suitable escape route for the dwarves. All the exits required them to traverse the passageways, which was impossible to do without getting caught. When he'd reported this to Thorin, the dwarf king was displeased.

"What good is that ring, then?" he hissed quietly.

"I'm trying, Thorin, but it's not my fault this blasted cave seems impossible to break out of."

Bilbo continued to speak in whispers, but the dwarf barely listened. Talaitha's voice at the entrance to the dungeons distracted him. She had arrived with Bilbo but had stopped to talk to the guard, though what about, he didn't know. He wished she would hurry up; they only had half an hour together.

Thorin's heartbeat quickened when she rounded the bend and smiled at him. He finally noticed Bilbo had stopped talking. In fact, he wasn't sure if the hobbit was even there anymore until he greeted Talaitha. Then, as became custom during the fairy's visits, Bilbo moved further into the dungeons to the others.

The dwarf king was grateful for the opportunity to let down his guard. The quest to avenge his kin and retake their home fueled him, but his time with Talaitha, brief though it was as of late, sustained him. A month ago, he would have staunchly denied that fact, but a month ago, he had been a different dwarf.

As his gaze roved over her clothes, he couldn't resist the urge to touch her waist through the bars. She wore a simple, white dress with a soft, green and yellow underbust corset that accentuated her figure.

"This is quite unlike your brown one," he murmured, feeling the material beneath his fingers.

"Mine doubles as armor, whereas this is merely aesthetic."

Aesthetic indeed, for it hugged her curves more closely than did the leather corset. He wanted nothing more than to run his hands along her body, to remove the chemise-like dress and _feel_ her skin, but he contented himself with encircling her hips.

Talaitha stifled a surprised gasp when Thorin pulled her closer. "Is this wise?" she whispered, glancing down the hall, first towards the unseen elf guard, then at the dwarves.

"No," he replied, his voice low. "But for once, I do not care."

And he truly didn't. The guard had been instructed to give Talaitha half an hour of undisturbed time with the Company; this Thorin had learned during their first meeting. The dungeons were too dim for his men to see much of his and Talaitha's interactions, and he suspected that even if Bilbo saw, he would keep it to himself. Finally, to the elves' knowledge, there was no way the dwarves could escape, so there was little harm in them talking to her.

Besides, if he was going to be stuck in this dank cell, he was damn well going to enjoy every minute he and Talaitha had.

"Then you are not angry that I am friends with Lord Elrond and Legolas?" she asked hesitantly, shrinking away slightly in anticipation of his reply.

Thorin frowned at the movement. She was wary of him, and with good reason, he realized. He'd treated her terribly, all because he'd been jealous of her fondness for the elves. He felt disgusted with himself.

"I am not," he replied softly, taking her hands in his. "And I am sorry for my unforgivable behavior."

Talaitha smiled and squeezed his hands. "It was not unforgivable if I forgive you."

He smiled so widely and with such genuine happiness that Talaitha's heart soared. This was a side of Thorin Oakenshield few had seen, yet she--a simple healer from an obscure land--had been granted the opportunity. Not only granted, but had been responsible for.

"When I am free, I will thank you properly," he vowed, bringing her hands to his lips and placing a kiss on both. "But for now, tell me what you were discussing with the guard for so long."

While Thorin _had_ overcome his anger towards the szelemér, he remained bitter that the elves, particularly the prince, spent so much time with her. But he didn't show this to Talaitha.

"There is to be a banquet a week hence to celebrate autumn," she replied. "Legolas invited me today. Most of the elves will be there, including your guard, so the caves will be as deserted as ever. If you are to escape, it must be on that night."

Thorin considered her words, his mouth set in a grim line. If they didn't leave the dungeons then, they probably never would. Not before Durin's Day, at least.

"There will surely be another to take this guard's place," he remarked.

"True, but I doubt his duty will deter him from celebrating a bit. And perhaps he may even grow careless if he would rather be at the banquet."

"Might make it easier for our burglar to filch his keys," Thorin suggested, amused.

Talaitha giggled softly. "Bilbo's already panicking about that."

His humor vanished when a troubling thought entered his mind.

"And you shall attend the festivities?"

A pang of jealousy shot through him at the prospect of Talaitha spending a night with elves, but he feigned nonchalance. He'd promised himself that he would no longer subject her to his animosity towards the elves. He would even try to accept her friendships with them. Thorin was considering the significance of that decision, when he felt her hands leave his.

But they had only moved to his hair, and his stomach clenched when he felt her twist a few strands together.

"I am," she replied, her gaze downcast as she worked. "It would be suspicious if I didn't, as I am a guest."

Thorin didn't dare nod, for fear of disrupting her ministrations. So he stood still, staring at her face, until she finished. When she had, he touched the new braids on each side, his hopes confirmed.

Her head finally rose, and she met his gaze, her uncertainty reflected in her eyes. They both understood the meaning of her gesture, but Thorin had no way of reciprocating it in his current situation. When he was free, though... Then she would have no reason to doubt his feelings for her.

"I will not forget this," he said, his hand resting on her cheek.

He smiled as her eyes closed and she leaned into his touch. He ghosted his hand down her neck, over her breasts and belly, until it rejoined the other on her hips. When he looked back up, her eyes were open and darkened with desire. He was sure his were no different.

Not for the first time, he cursed the bars, but with more vehemence than ever.

#

It was another two days before Bilbo and Talaitha visited the dwarves again. She'd been preoccupied with learning all she could about the cave from Legolas, in the hopes that he'd let something useful slip. He hadn't, though when she'd commented during dinner that the wine tasted different, he'd told her it was from Esgaroth. She had no idea where that was, so even if that bit of information _was_ significant, she wouldn't have known it.

The hobbit, however, had encountered more luck. While on a routine scouting trip, he stumbled across a trap door leading into a storeroom of sorts. Barrels were stacked everywhere, but what made him gasp--and nearly give himself away--was the subterranean river that flowed from the cellar. He'd found the Company's escape route.

Bilbo went in search of Talaitha, for he needed her to enter the dungeons, but she wasn't anywhere in the cave. When she returned to her room that evening, he was waiting for her.

"Fine day to be absent," he muttered.

"Well hello to you, too, irritable one," said Talaitha. "You could have just sneaked food from the kitchens until supper."

Bilbo groaned impatiently. "I'm not irritable because I'm hungry. I'm irritable because I've been waiting all day to tell you _and_ the dwarves that I've found our way out."

"Truly?" she asked, eyes wide with surprise. "Where?"

Bilbo hopped off his chair-bed and slipped on the ring. "I'll tell you and Thorin together. I'd rather not have to repeat myself three times, thank you very much."

The szelemér's eyebrows rose at his irascible tone, and she bit back a snicker. In his current mood, she didn't think he'd appreciate her amusement at his expense. She followed him to the dungeons, garnering a curious glance from the guard when she let the invisible hobbit enter first. To the elf, however, it looked like she'd hesitated, and when she eventually did go through the gate, she went cautiously, to avoid bumping into Bilbo.

"Are you alone?" Thorin murmured, as Talaitha approached his cell.

She shook her head and looked in front of her, but the hobbit was already by the bars.

"I know how to get you all out," Bilbo whispered. "There's a cellar that opens to an underground river. I think the elves use it to trade, because there are dozens of barrels there."

Talaitha was beginning to understand the hobbit's plan, and from Thorin's skeptical expression, so was he.

"You mean to stuff us into the barrels and send us down the river," the dwarf said, deadpan.

Bilbo must have seen the amused glint in Thorin's eyes, for he bristled. "If you have a better idea, please share it."

Talaitha intervened before an argument could begin.

"It's a good plan. Most of the elves will be at the banquet, and I can distract the few who remain in the caves if they're in our path to the cellar."

Thorin was silent, as he mulled over the arrangement. He wasn't thrilled with the idea of Talaitha drawing away the elves. She was putting herself at risk of incurring Thranduil's ire if they got caught, and if it was discovered that she'd been secretly aiding the dwarves, Thorin knew the elf would not be merciful.

She seemed to know what he was thinking, for when he opened his mouth to protest, she silenced him with a glare. Since they'd met, Thorin had become increasingly more mild-mannered towards her, while Talaitha had become less patient with him, as if they'd swapped traits. In normal circumstances, he would have appreciated the irony, but now he just felt disgruntled. He'd been locked in this cell for a week and had barely complained--even though whenever he thought about Thranduil, he seethed internally--, so she could've at least let him have his say.

But Thorin was nothing if not determined.

"Bilbo, inform the others of your plan."

He waited until he heard the hobbit's voice at the end of the hall, then turned to Talaitha, regarding her with an arched brow. She wore an infuriatingly smug smirk.

"You take pleasure in flouting my authority," he observed. If anyone else, besides his nephews, had behaved as Talaitha had, they'd have received a much harsher response.

"I certainly do, my _king_." Her tone was teasing, but the affection in her eyes was unmistakable. "Would you prefer me to be meek and subservient?"

"No."

He didn't even have to think about it. Her spirit was one of the qualities that had sustained his interest after the mystery of her heritage had been revealed. He wouldn't want a woman who was submissive...not _all_ the time, at least. He could think of a few occasions in which that would appeal to him, but ultimately, he was a dwarf. He liked fire and rock. For the first time, he realized how well Talaitha's passion and resolve suited his own.

The szelemér girl smiled. "Good, because I wouldn't change anyway."

Thorin knew that and was glad.

His hands grasped her waist and pulled her as close to him as the bars would allow. He looked at her properly, at the bronze-colored overcoat with golden elvish designs.

"You were out riding."

Talaitha looked surprised. "How did you know?"

The dwarf smiled bitterly. "Do not forget that before Smaug took Erebor, I was quite familiar with the wood elves." Then his expression turned playful. "And you smell like horse."

"Just what every woman wants to hear." She gave him a light shove, which caused his lips to twitch into a small smile.

"You are beautiful," he whispered, running his fingers through her copper hair. He didn't even mind the characteristic wood elvish circlet of leaves and tiny berries she wore.

And when his fingers brushed over the pointed tips of her ears, he felt no trace of his previous contempt for them. She was _not_ an elf. She was something far more remarkable.


	18. Barrels of Dwarves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The escape. With a twist.
> 
> To see the dress Talaitha wears in this chapter, check out "Soul Healing Images."

The day of the feast arrived in a flurry of activity. Bilbo spent the morning dodging elves, who were moving tables and chairs outside to the banquet site. But after nearly causing a collision in a passageway, he wisely opted to bide his time in Talaitha's room instead.

The fairy, on the other hand, avoided the caves altogether in favor of the stables. She missed Szélvész dearly. The memory of the first time she had glimpsed the mare in the grasslands outside Lelle popped into her mind. The fields were home to herds of wild horses, and Talaitha had seen many. But none of the horses had captivated her like Szélvész had. She was agile, intelligent, spirited, and swift. Talaitha thought her black and white coat was strikingly and uniquely beautiful. The szelemér girl would sit in a tree every day and watch the herd, giggling whenever the mare nipped at the young stallions who wandered too near.

One day, the mare trotted over to Talaitha's tree, peered up at her, and snorted, as though scolding her for spying. It was then that she noticed the mare had blue eyes, which were rare in dark-skinned horses. The unusual characteristic made Talaitha even more fond of her, and she wanted to get closer. The fairy climbed lower, as the horse watched her warily, ears halfway flattened. They remained like that, with Talaitha crouched on the lowest branch and Szélvész eyeing her curiously, until the mare galloped off as unexpectedly as she'd arrived.

After that, the horse came to the tree every day, dropping her head to graze on the soft grass. Sometimes Talaitha brought apples, which she offered to the mare. The szelemér was content with their arrangement, but three months after first spotting the herd, the mare greeted Talaitha with a nicker. The girl took that as a sign that she could touch her, so she dropped to the ground and slowly approached the horse, who waited calmly. She placed a hand on the mare's neck, while the other stroked her forehead. Szélvész allowed the szelemér girl to pet her for a few minutes, then took her dress sleeve between her teeth and tugged it forward. Talaitha laughed as the mare broke into a canter, beckoning her to follow with an impatient snort. So Talaitha did, and the two frolicked through the fields, sometimes chasing each other, sometimes ambling side-by-side, until dusk.

It wasn't long before Szélvész acquiesced to being ridden, though she practically bucked off the saddle Talaitha tried to fasten around her. The fairy was a competent horsewoman, but she'd never before ridden bareback, a fact which she was painfully reminded of the next morning. Yet still she visited the horse, and still they rode together.

Those were some of the happiest and freest times Talaitha could remember, and just thinking about them unleashed a deluge of emotions ranging from joy to sadness. She missed that spunky mare, missed her as one would miss one's kin. And as far as she was concerned, Szélvész _was_ kin. The mare hadn't abandoned her when they'd accidentally strayed too near a river spirit's home and the creature tried to lure Talaitha to her death. Szélvész had pulled her to a safe distance, where the fairy could regain her senses. And when some of Lelle's residents wanted to capture Szélvész's herd, Talaitha stood beside the mare in opposition, until the king decreed that the herd should remain free.

A gentle nudge to her shoulder pulled the fairy from her thoughts. She giggled at the grey stallion and ran her hands along his neck and sides, feeling the muscles flex beneath his almost metallic coat. This was Celebhith, Silvermist in the Common Tongue, Legolas' steed. Though no horse could replace Szélvész, Celebhith and the other elvish mounts lessened the ache of separation.

"I thought I would find you here," Legolas remarked, stroking the stallion's velvet-soft nose. Celebhith nickered happily at the attention.

"They are a comfort," she said, smiling. "Your plants are different. Your customs are different. Your languages are different. But horses are the same in Middle-earth and Nemere."

"Why do you not return home?" Legolas asked. Talaitha remained silent, shifting from one foot to the other. "It is because of the dwarves, is it not? They hold you here."

Her hand stilled on Celebhith's flank, suddenly feeling anxious. Had he deciphered the Company's true purpose? Would he tell his father?

"Deny it if you wish, melonin, but I see your concern for the dwarf king." The elf turned to her, his expression grave. "I warn you not to become attached to him. Dwarves cannot be trusted."

Talaitha bristled at that. "What have they done that has offended you so?" Celebhith's ears perked at the slight edge in her voice. "Your people broke the alliance with them, not the other way around."

"It was a tenuous alliance at best," Legolas replied calmly, almost casually. "And the dwarves ignored our requests for help against Sauron. All of Middle-earth could have crumbled for all they cared."

"But that wasn't _these_ dwarves. You cannot ascribe the sins of their ancestors upon them."

"Perhaps not," the elf conceded. "Yet gold-lust is in a dwarf's nature. Do not be surprised if Thorin turns his attention to accumulating wealth."

That made Talaitha pause. She had heard stories of the gold sickness that befell some dwarves, particularly in the Line of Durin. Thorin's grandfather had suffered from it, and his father might have, too, had Smaug not driven them from Erebor. Would Thorin become afflicted with it, as well? She had to believe that even if he did, he would fight it, for stubbornness was also in a dwarf's nature, especially in Thorin's.

"This conversation is pointless. I am merely his traveling companion," she said firmly. "Whatever concern you saw was that which would be directed at a friend in need."

A small smirk played upon Legolas' lips, making Talaitha want to stomp her foot like a petulant child. "Then my eyes must have been cheated by a spell."

And that was the end of it. They went their separate ways, Talaitha to her room to prepare for the banquet and Legolas to report to his father about the most recent patrol through Mirkwood. The hobbit was nowhere to be found, which suited Talaitha, for she could bathe and dress in peace.

As she was braiding her hair into an elaborate bun, the door opened, as though the wind had pushed it. But Talaitha knew better.

"And where have you been? I thought you were staying here after having too many near-collisions in the passageways."

Bilbo took off the ring, appearing beside her. "I was walking the path from the dungeon to the cellar one last time before tonight."

"Was it crowded?"

"Only in the cellar and in the tunnels leading to it from the kitchen. The elves are certainly fond of wine."

"So everything is set?"

"On my end," Bilbo nodded. "But how will the dwarves get past the guard?"

"You leave that to me," said Talaitha, with a wink.

She finished the braided bun and slipped on a gold circlet. It was characteristically wood elvish, with dark green crystals and a design of tree branches.

The hobbit smiled at her. "You look like an elf," he said. "But somehow I doubt Thorin will mind much."

"Oh, hush," she snapped lightly, tired of the insinuations regarding her and the dwarf king. If Gandalf were here, he'd join in with Legolas and Bilbo. In fact, he would probably be the most vocal of the three, if his behavior in Bag End had been any indication.

"Very well." Bilbo held up his hands in a truce. "What are you going to do until the banquet?"

Talaitha grinned. "Prepare the guard's distraction."

#

An hour later, the fairy and invisible hobbit arrived in the dungeons. On a chair by the door slept the guard, a half-empty pitcher of wine beside him on the table. When Talaitha leaned towards him, Bilbo grabbed her arm.

"What are you doing?" he hissed softly.

"Making sure he's completely out." She snapped her fingers in front of his face, then gave his shoulder a shove. The elf didn't react. "Take his keys and free the dwarves. I'll go ahead."

Before Bilbo could ask what she'd done to the guard, she'd already disappeared around the corner. He unhooked the keys from the elf's belt, opened the door as quietly as possible, and entered the dungeon. He was greeted by an impatient, pacing Thorin.

"What took you so long?"

"We had to wait until the banquet started so the cave would be empty," the hobbit replied testily and unlocked the cell door. "Otherwise, you wouldn't have made it very far."

Thorin followed Bilbo to his kin, his initial irritation for having to wait replaced by concern for Talaitha. Although it was essential that they avoid the elves, he wished the fairy hadn't become involved. _He_ hated Thranduil's people, but Talaitha did not, and he knew she would be saddened if she lost their friendship. Not to mention, the elf king would not look kindly upon her participation in his prisoners' escape.

"Are we ready?" Bilbo asked, when the last dwarf was freed from his cell.

The hobbit led them past the slumbering guard, pausing to lock the door and return the keys. Ori tripped over the elf's foot, but whatever Talaitha had given him was so effective that he didn't even stir. The dwarves watched with satisfaction as a bit of drool collected at the corner of his mouth.

Bilbo and Talaitha had timed the escape well, for the Company encountered no one along the paths. When they descended the stairs into the cellar, Talaitha was already waiting for them. Thorin nearly walked into Dwalin, as his gaze traveled over the jasmine, velvet gown that hugged the fairy's figure. The neckline was low, and as Thorin drew near, he tried not to look at her cleavage or at the way her breasts rose and fell with every breath.

He failed.

"You sure did a number on our guard," said Kili.

For once, Thorin was glad for his nephew's interference, for he barely restrained himself from rushing to Talaitha, taking her in his arms, and kissing her. _Mahal_ , she looked and smelled divine.

She met his gaze for an instant, before turning her attention to Kili. "Valerian. It's a plant that puts those who consume it into a deep sleep." Talaitha smiled sheepishly. "I probably gave him too much, but because elves are more resistant to valerian than other races, I thought it best to be safe."

"He's going to have one hell of a headache when he wakes up," Bofur remarked cheerfully.

"Elves don't get headaches."

Talaitha laughed at the disappointed expressions on the dwarves' faces.

"Yes, we know. You hate elves and want them to suffer," Bilbo said, exasperated. "But we need to go."

"He's right," agreed Talaitha. "I sent the two elves in here to the banquet with more wine, but they'll return soon with the empty caskets."

The dwarves rolled out their barrels, then pulled open the portcullis. Talaitha watched, amused, as they climbed inside, already grumbling about how cramped they were. Bombur barely fit into his, and the only reason he did was because Bifur and Bofur pushed, prodded, and turned him until they'd squeezed him in.

"This is mad," Dwalin muttered.

"We'll be bruised and battered and maybe even drowned," Dori griped.

"What if I get motion sick?" asked Ori.

"If you'd like, I can take you back to your cells and lock you in again until you come up with a better plan," Bilbo snapped from his barrel.

That made the dwarves pause in their complaints, for the hobbit and Talaitha had risked themselves to free them. They also realized there was no other escape from the elves' cave.

Talaitha rummaged through a crate of herbs. "If you get motion sick, Ori, chew these." She handed him a few sprigs of peppermint. "They should help ease the nausea."

Ori blushed as he thanked her. Talaitha smiled sweetly at the young dwarf, and in that moment, Thorin wanted nothing more than to embrace her. But then a thought occurred to him.

"How are we to get into the river?"

"I'll push you," Talaitha replied. "But I may need help."

Thorin was the only dwarf not in his barrel yet, so she tilted her head towards him in a silent question. He nodded.

The dwarf and fairy pushed the barrels into the water one-by-one. Talaitha managed well enough, using her combined strength and body weight to tip them over the edge, and judging by the number of groans, the dwarves inside her barrels landed in the river more gently than those inside Thorin's.

Now only he and Talaitha remained in the cellar.

"Come," Thorin said, leading her towards his barrel.

She pulled her hand from his with a shake of her head. "No. I will not sneak away from the elves a second time."

She was referring to Rivendell, he knew, when the Company had left without Lord Elrond's knowledge. Thorin cursed in Khuzdul. This was a fine time for Talaitha to heed her conscience!

"If you stay, Thranduil will know you helped us escape," he reasoned.

"Perhaps," she replied. "But there is little he can do. I have aided his people in the past, and he will remember that."

"Stubborn woman!" Thorin growled, turning away from her in frustration.

But Talaitha was smiling as she touched his shoulder. "Besides, if I go with you, who will push us into the river?"

Despite his irritation, he realized she had a point. Yet when he thought about Thranduil's fury directed at her, his stomach clenched in fear. Talaitha might believe the elf king would not punish her, but Thorin knew better.

So he tried a different tactic. Facing her again, he took her hands and brought them to his lips. "I only wish for your safety."

"I know, and I will be safe," she assured. "Trust me, Thorin."

It was not Talaitha who he mistrusted.

"Then I shall remain, too."

"Certainly not. You have a quest to complete."

The reminder was like a kick to the gut. He hadn't forgotten about Erebor; he'd just assumed that Talaitha would be there when he reclaimed it. The cold realization hit him that this might be the last time he saw her.

"You are as important to me as the quest," he insisted, though even as he said it, he knew it wasn't true. He cared for Talaitha, but his people had to and did come first.

No matter how bitter that loyalty tasted.

"Even if I were to believe you, the fact remains that someone has to push your barrel into the water."

"Talaitha." He said her name with such raw emotion that she almost believed he'd meant his previous words.

"I _will_ find you." She touched one of his new braids, trailing her fingers along it tenderly. "And then you can be as angry with me as you like. But for now, please listen to me."

Thorin had been in enough battles to realize when he was beaten. So instead of arguing further, he pulled her close and kissed her with such force that he felt Talaitha's muffled cry of surprise against his lips. But she reciprocated with equal passion, parting her lips to allow his tongue access. She tasted of raspberries and honey, and he suppressed a shudder as he imagined how that warm, soft mouth would feel on other parts of his body.

When they broke apart, they were panting slightly. Talaitha's cheeks were flushed, and her lips were plump and red. He longed to kiss them again and again, for he had lived 195 years without such a luxury, 195 years without _her_.

"I will listen to you," he said softly, placing butterfly kisses on her forehead, nose, and cheeks. "But when we are reunited, you will face the consequences."

"Mmm, I look forward to that," she purred. Thorin's grip on her hips tightened, as he groaned and leaned his forehead against hers. "Now you must stuff yourself inside that barrel and rejoin your kin."

He reluctantly released her and did as she bade. He pulled her in for a final kiss, gentler than the first and filled with all the things he could not say.

"I'll see you in Lake Town," she said and, with a mighty heave, pushed the barrel into the river below.


	19. Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talaitha is punished, and the Company is attacked. 
> 
> When I wrote this chapter, the trailer for _The Desolation of Smaug_ had just been released, so I incorporated aspects of it. And I liked how they fit enough to leave them as is even after seeing the film.

Talaitha dreaded the part that came next. She'd acted confident in front of Thorin, but she knew as well as he how Thranduil would react. He would view her actions as betrayal and would be swayed by neither compassion nor gratitude. As she joined the banquet, she almost wished she'd succumbed to cowardice and left with the Company.

Talaitha sat down beside Legolas, who smiled at her.

"You look lovely."

Guilt stabbed through her like a knife. Had she actually betrayed the wood elves by helping her friends?

 _No_. Though her loyalties were torn between Thorin's and Thranduil's people, she had not hurt the elves with her actions.

Legolas arched a brow, and Talaitha realized she'd let her emotional conflict show. She grappled for a cover.

"You are too kind, melonin," she smiled back, hoping her blush would be mistaken for shyness and not unease. "I am unused to such flattery, especially from an elf."

"But surely not from your own kin."

Talaitha sipped her wine, feeling her nerves begin to settle. "I haven't spent much time with them recently," she replied.

Legolas' eyes glinted with amusement, and his lips twitched. Talaitha knew he wanted to tease her about Thorin, but for whatever reason, he refrained. She silently thanked him. As she glanced across the clearing, she saw a pretty, auburn-haired elf maiden watching Legolas with such admiration that the fairy couldn't help but smile. She looked at Legolas, but he was oblivious to the _elleth_ 's attention.

"You, on the other hand, seem to have no shortage of admirers."

Legolas raised a brow in question, then his gaze followed Talaitha's, alighting upon the elf woman. His expression became neutral, save for the dilation of his pupils that betrayed his interest.

"She is Tauriel," Legolas said casually. "A capable member of the guard."

Talaitha giggled. "Very diplomatic answer."

The prince regarded her with a warning glare, but Talaitha wasn't deterred. He'd insinuated enough about her and Thorin's relationship. It was time the tables turned.

"You should ask her to dance after the meal."

"And you should put that mouth to better use," Legolas quipped, smirking a little at the unintentional innuendo. "Your lettuce is wilting."

The lettuce wasn't wilting, but Talaitha heeded the gentle, halfhearted reprimand. And, as her stomach rumbled, she realized how hungry she was. Pushing barrels of dwarves into a river apparently worked up an appetite.

She'd only managed a few bites of salad and bread, when two elves, including the prison guard, jogged over to Thranduil and whispered urgently to him. Before the king's gaze even found her, she knew the empty cells had been discovered.

Thranduil stood and walked over to where she and Legolas sat, motioning for them to follow. Talaitha looked up at the prince, who appeared confused and slightly apprehensive, and as he glanced at her, she thought she saw suspicion in his cerulean eyes.

The elves watched them leave the banquet, their hushed whispers the only evidence of their curiosity.

_I'm sure it has something to do with those dwarves._

_Perhaps Belenir's injury has worsened._

_Or Mithrandir returns with news of the evil ravaging Mirkwood._

When the elves and fairy arrived inside the cave, Thranduil dismissed the guards and stood with his back to Legolas and Talaitha. The king was silent for so long that she began to fidget. This anticipation was surely worse than his anger.

"Where does your journey end?" Thranduil finally spoke. "You seek that which would bestow upon one the right to rule."

Talaitha paled. He knew.

"A quest to reclaim a homeland and slay a dragon," said Thranduil, turning slowly. His face was a calm mask, but his gaze was simultaneously cold and fierce. It sent a shiver up Talaitha's spine.

"Did you really believe I had not guessed the truth?" He walked closer, until he towered above her. "A messenger bore news that a company of dwarves came to Elrond Half-Elven for counsel. They carried a map of the Lonely Mountain."

"I suppose there's no point denying it anymore," Talaitha said, her tone resigned.

Movement to her left caught her attention. Legolas appeared beside his father, struggling to decide which emotion--anger or disappointment--he should display. Talaitha had never seen the prince look so conflicted. As the silence stretched on, she grew anxious, smoothing her gown to give her restless hands something to do. Finally, Legolas frowned, and that, she thought, was worse than anger.

"Rhûn was never your destination."

"No," she replied softly. "I was part of Thorin's Company."

"Deceit and betrayal," Thranduil hissed. "For the sake of dwarves."

"If you know about the map, then surely you also know that Lady Galadriel has given this quest her blessing."

Legolas' brow rose skeptically, but Thranduil did not contend her words. She continued. "As we speak, Mithrandir is seeking out the source of the darkness that has descended upon the Green Wood. Do you not think it will spread beyond the borders of this forest?"

"That is not my concern," Thranduil said dismissively, but from the flash of his eyes, Talaitha knew he had considered the possibility. "Such is the nature of evil. In time, all foul things come forth."

"Yes, exactly!" she exclaimed. "And if that evil reaches Smaug, Middle-earth will be in grave danger. The dwarves' quest must be allowed to continue, so it could prevent such a threat."

"Or it could hasten it. If they wake the dragon, they unleash a force they cannot hope to defeat."

"You don't know that," Talaitha argued. She had to believe the dwarves would succeed, for the alternative was too terrible to imagine.

"They failed a century ago," Legolas remarked.

"A century ago, they were caught unawares. They are more prepared now."

But were they really? All they had were a ragtag group of dwarves, a not-so-eager burglar, and a lone healer, who might not even make it to Erebor in time. Their most powerful ally was creeping through a crypt somewhere, possibly walking straight into a trap. How would Gandalf help them then?

"They were ambushed by spiders and captured by my people," Thranduil said. "And you believe they will overcome the dragon?"

"I believe that conviction and love for one's home and kin are sometimes stronger than an army." Talaitha glared at the elf king. "The men and elves were outnumbered against Sauron, yet their unfailing desire to protect their freedom, lands, and people helped them persevere."

Thranduil smiled darkly. "Dwarves are motivated by greed and vengeance. Nothing more."

Talaitha couldn't deny there was truth in the elf's words. Thorin certainly sought revenge, but he was also committed to his father's and grandfather's dream that one day, the dwarves would return to Erebor. She would be lying, however, if she thought the treasure was inconsequential to him.

Her assurance faltered, and Thranduil noticed. "You have freed them only to allow them to march to their deaths."

Talaitha raised her head and met the king's stare, defiance burning in her eyes.

"Not if I'm there."

Thranduil's tone was cold as he said, "You cannot heal them from a dungeon." He motioned for two guards to tie her wrists together. "Take her away."

Legolas glanced sharply at his father, but the protest on his lips was silenced when Thranduil turned his gaze on his son, a warning flashing in his blue-grey eyes. The prince watched as Talaitha was led from the room, struggling futilely against the elves' hold.

#

The dwarves' journey down the river was proving more uncomfortable than they could have imagined. They'd been jostled around so much atop the waves and around the bends that even Dwalin had become motion sick.

Thorin's thoughts wandered to Talaitha, and he kept glancing back towards Mirkwood, expecting to see her following them on horseback. But birds and squirrels were their only company. As he turned his attention to the swiftly flowing river in front of him, he saw a dark-skinned creature slink out from the bushes. Seconds later, an arrow thudded into the side of his barrel.

"Orcs!" shouted Thorin, yanking the arrow from the wood.

His warning alerted not only Bilbo and the dwarves, but their enemy, too. Over a dozen of the foul creatures sprang out from behind the trees, boulders, and bushes, some of them firing arrows, while others ran along the riverbank, keeping pace with the barrels.

An orc leapt towards him, and Thorin cursed, trying to wrench Orcrist free from the confines of his barrel. He did so just in time and cut down the orc with a mighty roar. It felt good to use his muscles again after over a week of inactivity in Mirkwood's dungeon.

His companions fared similarly, hacking and slashing at the orcs that tried to jump onto their barrels. Kili made quick work of the archers on the shore, letting loose arrow after arrow with deadly precision.

The orcs stopped their pursuit, and as Thorin looked forward, he saw why. A series of rapids and waterfalls laid ahead, which the Company headed towards with disconcerting speed. Nori was the first to reach the rapids, gripping tightly to his barrel as it was violently tossed around. Then it disappeared over the edge of a waterfall. The roar of the water was so loud that even if Nori had yelled, the dwarves wouldn't have heard him.

Thorin looked behind. Bilbo was staring at the approaching rapids with wide, terrified eyes, and even Kili--courageous, gutsy Kili--looked worried. Further observation of his men was impossible as Thorin's barrel jounced over the rapids. He clenched his jaw to avoid biting his tongue, and as he fell over the waterfall, his stomach flipped unpleasantly. His barrel hit the water _hard_ , momentarily knocking the air from his lungs, before bouncing over the second set of rapids. By now he was soaked, his black hair clinging to his face in wet strands.

Dori had spoken truthfully when he said they'd be bruised and battered. And Thorin hadn't ruled out being drowned yet either.

#

Talaitha sat in the dank cell, not caring if she soiled the jasmine gown. It would serve the elves right for locking her in the dungeon. It was cold and smelled of mold. In the faint torchlight, she saw something green and slick climbing up the stone walls. The fairy shuddered, unaccustomed to such surroundings. For the first time in her life, she felt an indignant anger boil forth. She was a szelemér princess, for Valar's sake! Then she checked herself. A szelemér princess who wanted nothing to do with the title. A princess who had spent the past decade living a rather nomadic existence, smelling of horse and blood more often than not.

Her thoughts turned to Thorin, if only to distract herself from her predicament. She hoped the barrels hadn't leaked. Bilbo wasn't a keen swimmer, though hobbits in general weren't overly fond of deep water. She hoped Thranduil wouldn't send out elves to recapture the dwarves, for that would make her incarceration doubly frustrating. She hoped for many more things, but most of all, she hoped the elf king would release her so that she could reunite with the Company.

And reunite with Thorin.

But as the night wore on, Talaitha's optimism soured, along with her mood. She was cold, hungry, tired, and thirsty--not to mention disgruntled with herself that she hadn't escaped with the others. Though she was loathe to admit it, Thorin had been right about Thranduil's reaction.

"Bloody dwarf," she muttered sullenly. He should've just picked her up and shoved her in the barrel, but no, he had to listen to her. And she just _had_ to heed her conscience. Grumbling, she kicked a rock and smirked in satisfaction as it hit the cell bars with an echoing _clang_. She kicked another, but that one landed harmlessly in the hall.

At some point, Talaitha had dozed off, waking to the sound of keys jangling and the cell door creaking open. Her hair had come loose from its braided bun and hung messily about her shoulders.

As her eyes adjusted to the light from the torches, she saw Legolas standing over her, holding out his hand to her. She took it, and he helped her stand. Without a word, he led her from the dungeon up to the throne room, where Thranduil sat awaiting them.

"My son believes you acted selflessly and according to your moral judgment," the king said dryly. "He believes holding you in the dungeon is too harsh a punishment, especially considering who you are."

Talaitha wasn't sure if he was referring to her status as a princess or to her occupation as a healer. But it didn't matter. Her gaze met Legolas', and the prince offered her a tight smile. He wasn't pleased with her, but he'd spoken on her behalf. She felt her heart lighten.

"Yet one ill turn deserves another," Thranduil continued ominously. "For your betrayal, Talaitha Borvirág, you are hereby banished from Mirkwood, never to set foot amongst the wood elves again."

The fairy's eyes widened in shock, and her stomach felt like lead had been dropped into it. She didn't need to ask what would happen if she returned.

"My lord," she breathed. "I did not harm the elves when I helped the dwarves escape."

"You harmed all the peoples of Middle-earth with your actions." Thranduil's voice was hard as steel. "For if the dragon wakes, it _will_ wreak destruction."

Before Talaitha could answer, Thranduil nodded to two guards, who grasped her upper arms. "Lead her from the forest."

The guards pulled her forward gently, though she would have gone voluntarily. She looked behind her and saw Legolas following with her clothes and weapons. He appeared troubled.

When they'd left the cave, the prince dismissed the guards and turned to Talaitha. "I am sorry for this." Then he saddled Celebhith and a small mare for Talaitha, secured her belongings on his saddle, and spurred Celebhith into a gallop.

As the trees passed by in a blur, the fairy felt a strange calm descend upon her. She attributed it to finally leaving the oppressive forest behind, but she knew it was a kind of resignation. She would never see her elf-friend again, and she'd accepted that. For now, at least.


	20. Poison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reunited

By noon, Legolas and Talaitha were out of Mirkwood and galloping along the banks of the Forest River. She searched for any signs that the Company had encountered mischief along the way--strewn arrows, broken barrels, dried blood--but saw nothing. She was starting to relax and enjoy the fresh air, when she glimpsed a dark body lying in the grass.

"Azog found them," Talaitha breathed, alarmed.

She slowed her mare and slid from the saddle, careful not to catch her dress in the buckles. Talaitha crouched beside the body of a dead orc. Yanking the arrow from its chest, she examined the large, short tip. The arrow was crafted by no elf, dwarf, orc, or human, yet it was familiar.

"This is one of the arrows Beorn gave us," she said. Only one dwarf could have shot the orc with such accuracy from a moving, bouncing barrel. She glanced further down the riverbank, and the dread in her stomach lifted when she saw dead orcs, not dead dwarves, littered along it.

She smiled up at Legolas, who did not share her relief. "I think the dwarves made it past the ambush."

The elf's reply was cut short as his sharp hearing caught the barely audible sounds of feet rustling in the grass. He placed a finger to his lips to silence Talaitha's question and readied his bow. As quietly as she could, Talaitha climbed into the saddle and nocked the arrow she'd just pulled from the dead orc onto her bowstring. And not a moment too soon, for seconds later, at least a dozen orcs rushed out from behind the foliage, firing their own arrows and hurling short spears.

Legolas wasted no time in shooting the orcs, and she followed suite once she'd calmed her frightened mare. Talaitha supposed she'd never seen battle, which didn't bode well for either of them. When she wasn't defending herself, she kept a gentle hand on her horse's neck to soothe her as much as possible. Still, Talaitha had to concentrate to keep her seat atop the fidgeting mare.

Those few seconds of distraction allowed an arrow to pierce Talaitha's left thigh, wrenching forth a cry of pain from the fairy. The tip went through her flesh and grazed the mare's flank, startling her more than hurting her. Yet without her rider's comforting touch, she bucked forward in fear, dislodging Talaitha enough that she fell. Fortunately, she managed to protect her head as she hit the ground with a yelp.

Legolas directed Celebhith to where she laid on her back, injured leg bent, gingerly touching the arrow protruding from her thigh. Ignoring the pain, she felt the area surrounding the wound, pressed it but felt no worse damage than torn skin and muscle. The tip had narrowly missed her femoral artery. Releasing the breath she'd been holding, Talaitha focused on Legolas, who had dismounted and crouched beside her.

"I am fine," she assured him, when she saw the concern in his eyes. "Just help me up."

His gaze fell on the arrow in her leg, but she shook her head. "No time now."

The orcs grew bolder, running towards them with brandished blades. Legolas pulled Talaitha to her feet, keeping his hands on her waist until she'd found her balance. The elf and fairy nocked arrows, drew their bows, and shot down two of the oncoming orcs. They fired arrow after arrow, until the orcs were too close, forcing them into hand-to-hand combat. Legolas pushed Talaitha behind him as he twirled gracefully, his twin knives glinting dangerously in the sunlight, before slashing the throats of the two nearest orcs.

Talaitha had drawn Ezüstlélek, but it suddenly felt heavy in her hand. She was dizzy, and her thigh throbbed with renewed, more intense pain. Breathing deeply, she tried to steady herself, but her vision was becoming increasingly blurry, the edges graying and narrowing, as though she were peering into a tunnel. Before she collapsed, a warmth suffused her, and she thought that fainting wasn't so unpleasant after all.

When Legolas felt a weight press against his legs, he nearly slashed out behind him. A quick glance at the cause wrapped a tendril of fear around his heart. Talaitha should not have fainted from her injury. He looked ahead again, and only two orcs remained, which Celebhith dispatched quickly with a few well-aimed strikes of his hooves.

Picking up Talaitha, he searched for her mare, but she was nowhere to be found. At his whistle, Celebhith came forward, still fidgeting with energy from the battle. But the stallion calmed when Legolas placed a hand on his flank and whispered soft words in Elvish. He shifted Talaitha to one arm and pulled himself into the saddle, resting the fairy in front of him. To keep her from tipping forward and hurting herself on Celebith's neck as they rode, Legolas leaned her back against his chest. When he was sure she was secure, he urged the stallion into his swiftest gallop.

#

Bilbo and the dwarves sighed in relief as the river finally slowed. It led into a lake, at the center of which perched a large, wooden town, connected to the shore by a bridge. Balin and Thorin had known Esgaroth before the dragon had come, but now, even from a distance, they barely recognized the dilapidated settlement.

Thorin glanced behind him, assessing the condition of his dwarves. Ori looked queasy. Nori grimaced as he clenched and unclenched his fists, his fingers stiff from gripping the barrel so tightly. Dori was occupied with wringing water from his beard. Óin had lost his hearing horn. Again. Bombur was stuck inside his barrel, and Thorin already dreaded how they'd pry him out. Bofur was squeezing water from his hat. Bifur had injured his head when it slammed against the edge of his barrel over the rapids. Balin had sat down at the bottom of his barrel. And Bilbo looked more sodden and miserable than the rest. That left five dwarves, including himself, who were in slightly better condition.

"Fili, Kili, Glóin, Dwalin," said Thorin. "Help me pull the others to shore."

It took three of them to drag Bombur's barrel from the river, after which they sat down heavily in the sand, trying to catch their breaths. Fili and Kili helped the others climb out of their barrels, but Bofur's and Dori's tipped over, spilling them onto the ground. They remained like that, sprawled with their limbs stretched out, until Bilbo sneezed.

"Here," said Bofur, ripping off a section of his tunic and tossing it in the hobbit's general direction.

Bilbo picked up the wet scrap of fabric, staring at it dubiously. But he had nothing else, unless he wanted to tear a piece of his own shirt to use as a handkerchief. Though he looked bedraggled and had sullied his good name by going on this adventure, he still fancied himself a respectable hobbit, and respectable hobbits did not blow their noses into their clothing. So he blew it into someone else's.

Once the dwarves had recovered from their ordeal, the complaints began.

"That was the worst experience of my life," grumbled Nori. "And I've been chased by bears."

"My beard will never dry," lamented Glóin.

"I still feel sick," moaned Ori, who did look a bit green. He'd just remembered the mint leaves in his pocket and stuffed them into his mouth.

"I was wedged too tightly," whined Bombur.

Bifur mumbled something in Khuzdul.

"I hate water," growled Dwalin.

Before any of them could utter another word, Bilbo stomped to the center of the group and glared at each dwarf. "You're free, aren't you? And alive." He sneezed again. "Besides, _I'm_ the one who's caught a cold."

The dwarves reluctantly murmured in agreement, and Ori nodded sheepishly. It'd been a bumpy and cramped journey, but at least they were rid of the elvish dungeon. And of Mirkwood. Not to mention, they hadn't gotten sick, so all around, they realized they'd been rather fortunate indeed.

"Enough," said Thorin brusquely. "You would do well to remember who freed us from that wretched place."

His thoughts drifted to Talaitha, his heart heavy with dread and the ache of their separation. Despite her promise that they would reunite in Lake Town, he wasn't sure he'd ever see her again. He knew Thranduil wouldn't let her free, not without punishment, at least, and he feared what the consequences would be. His rational side assured him that the elf king would not harm Talaitha physically. After all, even the worst of elves would not resort to torture. But his less logical side, driven by his grudge against Thranduil and his fondness for the fairy, reminded him that the king lacked all honor.

"Uncle, are you well?" asked Fili.

Thorin noticed the Company's attention on him. Some expressions were concerned; others, curious. Bilbo suspected the cause of Thorin's edgy reticence, for he, too, worried for Talaitha.

"I'm fine," he replied gruffly. "Get up. We make for Lake Town."

#

Celebhith's flanks were coated with sweat, as he galloped across the wooden bridge leading into the town. Guards jumped out of the stallion's way, following him to the healing pavilion. Legolas wrapped his arms around Talaitha and slid gracefully from the saddle.

The guards had finally caught up with and surrounded the elf, brandishing their weapons at him. His blue eyes were hard as he surveyed the men. If the need arose, he would be victorious against them, but he hoped it wouldn't come to that.

"This woman has been struck by a poisoned arrow. She needs a healer."

The soldiers shifted uneasily on their feet, unsure of what to do. They were used to being commanded, so now that _they_ had to decide the next course of action, they balked, fearing the repercussions of the wrong choice.

"If you wish to retain my people as friends, you will stand aside and allow me to take this woman to a healer."

The men glanced at each other, then at the tall elf and the twin blades strapped to his back. They sheathed their weapons. Trade with the elves was essential to Esgaroth, and without it, the city would fall into economic ruin.

Watching Legolas stride into the healing pavilion jolted the soldiers into action. A few trailed him at a safe distance, though they'd be little threat to him if the situation turned hostile. Some ran off to inform the Master of the town of the elf's unannounced arrival. But most trickled back to whatever they were doing before the stallion had thundered past.

#

The guards reached the banquet hall, where the Master and his thirteen guests were feasting. Thorin glanced up, as he did every time someone entered the room, hoping it was Talaitha walking through the door. But like countless times before, it was not her, yet Thorin's attention did not wane this time. The messengers brought news of an elf carrying a small, injured woman into the healing ward. Fear stabbed through him, for in his heart, he knew that woman was Talaitha.

"I am sorry, my friends. There is an urgent matter I must attend to," announced the Master, standing. "Please stay and finish your meal. I shall find you after."

Thorin stood, too. "An elf arrived with a woman, am I correct?" At the Master's reluctant nod, the dwarf continued. "I believe I am acquainted with this woman."

He didn't ask permission to accompany the Master--he didn't need to--, but the man nevertheless understood his unspoken intent. He knew well that the dwarf was a king, albeit an uncrowned one, so despite appearances, he had little real power over him. He had no choice but to acquiesce with seeming grace, though internally he seethed.

Bilbo jumped up from the table, his roast pork and potatoes forgotten. "I'm coming, too."

The Master was about to protest, but Thorin's glare silenced him. If the woman was indeed Talaitha, Bilbo was probably the first person she'd wish to see, especially if she was injured. The dwarf knew and accepted this, despite the pang of jealousy.

"Is it Talaitha?" Kili whispered to his brother.

Fili shrugged. "From Uncle's and Bilbo's reactions, probably."

"It's not like we know anyone else who'd come to Lake Town with an elf," said Bofur, pouring himself and the Durin brothers more ale.

"Do you think she's hurt?" Ori asked anxiously.

Dori patted the young dwarf's hand. "I'm sure if she is, the healers will take care of her."

#

When Bilbo and Thorin reached the healing pavilion, Talaitha was once again conscious, her hands fisted into the bed sheets, as the healer prepared to remove the arrow from her thigh.

"Talaitha!" Bilbo cried, rushing to her side. Thorin followed with quick, determined strides.

She smiled when she saw them, though Thorin could see she was far from well. Her skin was pallid, and her breathing was shallower than it should have been.

"I am pleased you arrived safely," Talaitha said softly, taking Bilbo's hand.

"Where is the elf?" asked the Master.

"He left. Had to return for his kin to hunt down any lingering orcs," she replied. Her voice was growing weaker.

Thorin clenched his jaw, his eyes cold and dangerous. Azog had killed his grandfather and had sworn to wipe out the Line of Durin, but Thorin would be damned if he allowed the orc to take Talaitha from him, too. He would have revenge on the Pale Orc, even if it meant his death.

"What happened?" asked Bilbo, eyes widening at the sight of the protruding arrow.

"Legolas and I were ambushed by the orcs that attacked you. I took a poisoned arrow to the leg." She attempted a smile, but it looked more like a grimace.

"The arrow must be removed," said the healer, gently pulling the hobbit away and ushering all unnecessary people, including the guards and the Master, outside.

Talaitha's eyes widened, but she nodded faintly and took a deep breath. As the healer grasped the shaft, the fairy's gaze met Thorin's, and he saw fear in it. She'd removed countless arrows from her patients, but until now, she'd never been on the receiving end of such treatment.

Thorin moved to her side and took her hand.

"Do not look away from me."

He nodded to the healer, who broke off the arrow's head and quickly pulled out the shaft. Talaitha gasped and squeezed Thorin's hand hard _,_ as the jagged wood scraped against her inflamed flesh. The healer flushed out the wound with water, then with an infusion of marjoram to prevent infection. Talaitha's gaze remained on Thorin's face while the healer worked, though the dwarf could see she struggled to keep her eyes open. It looked like she was slipping into unconsciousness again, when suddenly, she cried out and doubled over in pain.

Thorin placed his other hand on her back, glaring at the healer, and Bilbo watched with a panicked expression.

"It's the poison," the healer explained, as if that should comfort them.

"Belladonna and red clover," said Talaitha, straining to keep her voice steady. "Bilbo. In my medicine bag."

The hobbit jumped up, searching for the leather _tarsoly_ , and handed it to the healer, who began to make an infusion of the two plants. By the time it was finished, Talaitha was only conscious because Thorin would not allow her eyes to close. He knew that if they did, they might never open again.

He held her up to drink the antidote, then helped her lie down in the bed, pulling the blankets over her as she fell asleep.

Bilbo moved to her other side. "She will live, won't she?" He touched the pulse point on her wrist, as if to reassure himself that her heart still beat.

"Her chances have just improved with the antidote," the healer replied, but her tone was guarded. "If she wakes up again, give her this." She handed Thorin a vial of a colorless, murky liquid. "White willow bark tea. It will help against the pain."

"You are leaving?" Thorin demanded.

"I will return in an hour to check on her, but I can do no more at the moment. Her recovery is up to her now."

After the healer left, Thorin brushed a curl from Talaitha's cheek, allowing his fingers to linger longer than necessary. Bilbo noticed. He also noticed how carefully the dwarf held her hand, as though he were afraid a stronger grip would break it. And he saw each tender stroke of Thorin's thumb upon the fairy's knuckles.

An hour later, the healer returned, just like she'd promised. Laying her hand on Talaitha's sweat-slicked forehead, she frowned, and moved her hand to the pulse point on the fairy's neck. Her frown deepened.

"She is feverish."

"But isn't that good?" asked Bilbo. "She will sweat out the poison."

"Normally it would be, but her pulse is fast and erratic. The fever is too high." The healer took out another vial from a large, wooden cabinet. "Tea from the feverfew tree's bark will help lower her temperature."

Thorin held up Talaitha again, while the healer soaked a cloth in the tea and dripped it into the szelemér's mouth. It was a slow process but the only way to ensure she wouldn't choke on the liquid. The healer filled a bowl with cool water and dipped another cloth into it, which she wrung out and placed on Talaitha's forehead. A second damp cloth was wrapped loosely around her neck.

"I will return in a few hours, but her fever should soon lessen."

Thorin watched the healer leave, a storm of emotions raging within. He was angry with himself for not protecting Talaitha, irritated with the healer for her detached attitude, and furious with Thranduil for forcing Talaitha and the Company to leave separately. He wanted to kill Azog and the orc that shot the fairy in the slowest, most agonizing manner possible. But most of all, he was terrified she would succumb to the poison.

He didn't care that Bilbo sat across from him. He didn't care about the quest, about the treasure, about being King under the Mountain. As he lifted Talaitha's hand to his lips, all he cared about was her recovery.

"Please live," he whispered.


	21. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin ruminates and bonds with Bilbo.

It was past midnight, and Bilbo, having fallen asleep about an hour ago, was slumped forward onto the edge of Talaitha's bed. Thorin watched the hobbit sleep, a strange sort of fondness mixed with respect creeping up on him. Bilbo could have slept in a comfortable bed, but he'd chosen to stay with the dwarf to keep vigil over the szelemér. He had also abandoned his first proper meal since Mirkwood, which was perhaps a better indication of his concern for Talaitha. Bombur had brought them bread, sausage, and cheese after dinner, but Thorin suspected they hadn't completely sated Bilbo. He made no complaint, though.

The dwarves visited throughout the evening, but it was a cheerless affair. Dwalin patted Talaitha's arm and mumbled something none of them heard, save for the parting "lass." Dori gathered colorful wildflowers from the mainland and arranged them in a vase beside the bed. Even Kili was serious, gazing at Talaitha with a somber expression that unnerved Thorin.

Óin had prepared a cooling balm, which Thorin now spread on Talaitha's chest, careful to avoid the dip between her breasts. Her breathing evened out, and her pulse returned to normal, yet she still wouldn't wake. He kept his hand around hers, rubbing circles on her palm, searching for any sign that she knew he was with her, that she wasn't alone.

The door opened. Thorin ignored the figure that walked in, expecting it to be the healer, but the voice he heard belonged to someone he'd hoped never to encounter again.

"How is she?"

His head snapped up, a fierce glower settling on his face as his gaze met Legolas'. But the elf didn't return the dwarf's anger. Cerulean eyes flicked to the woman on the bed, and Thorin pretended he didn't see the worry they held.

"Alive," he grunted. "She received an antidote for the poison, but there has been little change."

Legolas drew closer, placing his hand on Talaitha's forehead. She was feverish but only mildly. The grayish tint of her skin emphasized the purple bruises beneath her eyes, and her hair was beginning to mat. But she breathed steadily.

"Talaitha is strong," Legolas said, looking at the dwarf. "Do not abandon hope."

Thorin's immediate reaction was to snap in reply, but he checked it for Talaitha's sake. The elf was her friend, and even Thorin could not begrudge the obvious concern he showed. But his tolerance had its limits.

"You should have protected her."

"Yes, I should have." The look in Legolas' eyes suggested his words referred to more than just the orc attack.

Thorin silently cursed the elf. Had he denied responsibility, the dwarf could have hated him.

"My kin hunted down the scouting party."

"Good," Thorin murmured. "Did you encounter the Pale Orc?"

"We did not, but he will reveal himself soon enough." The prince's gaze fell on Bilbo for the first time since he'd arrived. "Was he with you in the caves?"

"He was," Thorin replied, surprising himself and the elf with his candor.   


Legolas' lips twitched. "Barrels." He moved towards the door, his hand hovering over the handle, as if waiting for something.

"What was her punishment?" Thorin asked.

The elf looked at Talaitha sadly. "Banishment." Then, without a second glance, he was gone.

Thorin breathed a sigh of relief, his body sagging forward as his muscles relaxed. He was exhausted. His eyes itched from keeping vigil on the szelemér, and his head ached with endless thoughts. But he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep until Talaitha awoke, for every time he closed his eyes, he saw her green gaze, fearful and glossed with pain. The vision haunted him.

Movement on the other side of the bed drew his attention. Bilbo yawned and rubbed his eyes, then smiled sheepishly at Thorin.

"I fell asleep."

"You did," Thorin replied. "But only for a couple of hours."

"It seems like more." Bilbo looked at Talaitha and touched her wrist to feel her pulse. Thorin almost smiled, for the action had become a habit for them both. "What did I miss?"

"The elf was here."

"What?!" cried Bilbo, then clapped a hand over his mouth and glanced around the room, as if expecting to find a dead elf lying on the floor. "Which one?"

"The prince. He was with Talaitha when she was shot."

Bilbo watched the dwarf closely, gauging his reaction.

"Do you blame him?"

"No."

The hobbit's eyes widened in shock. Thorin couldn't blame him. His answer had surprised even himself.

"The orcs?"

" _Of course_ ," Thorin hissed. "But I blame myself more. I should have forced her to come with us, or remained behind with her."

Bilbo smiled at Talaitha and took her hand. "She would not have allowed you to do either one, you know."

Thorin _did_ know, but that didn't assuage his guilt. She was a part of his Company. Her safety and well-being were his responsibility, and he'd failed her, just as he'd failed in the past.

"I should have been there."

"It wasn't your fault, Thorin," Bilbo said firmly. "Talaitha is stubborn, not unlike you." Thorin grunted at that, though the corners of his mouth lifted slightly. "But she's also looked after herself for ten years. I don't think she really _needs_ anyone to protect her."

"When did you become so wise?" asked Thorin, allowing himself a genuine smile for the first time since parting with Talaitha.

"It's this adventure," Bilbo laughed. "I guess this is what Gandalf meant when he said I'd become a different hobbit."

"Indeed," Thorin murmured. But Bilbo wasn't the only one who'd changed during the quest.

#

A bright morning dawned, but it did nothing to lift Thorin's spirits. During the night, Talaitha had shifted nearer to him, and though she was still unconscious, Lake Town's healer considered that a good sign. But if Talaitha's condition was improving, why hadn't she awoken yet?

Bilbo had gone to get their breakfast, but Thorin didn't think he could eat anything. His stomach was filled with the same heaviness as on the day he'd watched his brother, then grandfather die. The same heaviness as on that fateful, horrific day. He bit back a wave of nausea as the memories and pain resurfaced. He had lost too many people, too many loved ones.

He supposed that was one reason why he'd devoted himself so completely to his kin, because if he was busy rebuilding their culture, he could minimize his attachments and the loss that inevitably followed. His nephews had been the exception. He'd allowed himself to dote upon them when they were dwarflings, and he still kept a watchful eye on them, however gruff his affection towards them had become.

And now there was Talaitha. He'd stifled his feelings for her as long as he could, trying to avoid precisely _this_ type of situation. For all his stoicism, Thorin Oakenshield was a dwarf of intense emotions and passions. He felt as strongly as others did--perhaps even more strongly--, but he masked it expertly. He suspected that was due to years of toiling in human settlements, bearing the humiliation in order to support his people. _"A king does not show weakness,"_ his grandfather had once said. He'd been referring to emotions, of course, and the advice had stuck with Thorin. Yet now, as he watched Talaitha's chest rise and fall, he began to realize that emotions could be a strength, too.

"I got us some eggs, bacon, toast, and tomatoes," announced Bilbo, interrupting Thorin's musings.

The dwarf looked up in surprise. He'd been so embroiled with his thoughts that he hadn't heard the hobbit enter. Offering him a half-smile in thanks, Thorin accepted a plate of food and ate slowly, if for no other reason than to appease Bilbo. The hobbit's light chatter was welcome after Thorin's gloomy ruminations.

"Bombur broke a chair. The Master looked so annoyed that his face got red."

Thorin snorted in amusement, as Bilbo paused to eat a piece of buttered toast.

"The dwarves requested ale with breakfast. So much ale that the servants just brought out the entire barrel."

Thorin winced. "Speak not of barrels."

"And Ori sent this for Talaitha." Bilbo pulled out a piece of parchment from his jacket pocket and handed it to Thorin.

The dwarf unfolded it and smiled. It was a card, wishing the fairy a speedy recovery. There was a short poem that the scribe had written, followed by a sketch of her sitting in bed, surrounded by the Company. Thorin's mood brightened at the thoughtful gesture. He set the card beside Dori's flowers on the nightstand and finished his breakfast.

Incoherent mumblings from the bed between them caused Bilbo and Thorin to nearly upend their plates. They watched Talaitha expectantly, as she shifted under the covers and finally opened her eyes.

Then promptly shut them again.

"Too bright," she said hoarsely, turning her head away from the beam of sunlight shining into the room.

Bilbo jumped up and pulled the curtains across the window. Talaitha opened her eyes again and smiled, first at the hobbit, then at the dwarf. When she saw her hand in Thorin's, a light blush crept into her cheeks, infusing them with some sorely needed color. Thorin gave her a lopsided smile and fought the urge to crush her to his chest in joy and relief. He helped her sit up, his hands lingering on her shoulders a few seconds longer than necessary.

"How long have I been asleep?" she asked, after gulping down a glass of water.

"Not as long as we'd thought you'd be," Bilbo replied. "I think about eighteen hours?"

Talaitha nodded, as though that was an acceptable answer. "And how long have you two been sitting here?"

"About eighteen hours." Before she could protest, Bilbo added, "I slept, but I don't know if Thorin did."

She glanced at the dwarf, noting the weary sag of his shoulders. His eyes, however, were devoid of fatigue. They shone with fond amusement and were as clear a blue as she'd ever seen them.

Bilbo saw the way Thorin's and Talaitha's gazes met and chose that moment to take the empty plates to the kitchens. When the door closed behind the hobbit, Thorin leaned forward and pulled Talaitha into his arms. For an instant, she was taken aback by the sudden gesture of affection, but then she tucked her head beneath his chin and snuggled into his chest. They sat like that, with Thorin stroking her hair and Talaitha listening to the steady beat of his heart, until the healer walked in.

Thorin reluctantly released her. While the healer felt Talaitha's temperature and measured her pulse, the szelemér's gaze kept flitting to him, a smile tugging at her lips.

"It appears that your body has flushed the poison," said the healer, once she'd finished her examination. "How do you feel?"

"My leg's a bit sore," Talaitha replied, touching her arrow wound gingerly. "But otherwise, I feel fine."

"Let's take a look at that leg, then."

The healer shot Thorin a pointed look, and he turned his back, scowling at being ordered around with a mere glance. The sheets rustled, as Talaitha pulled up her dress to reveal the injury.

"The wound is healing nicely," the healer observed, unwrapping the bandage from around Talaitha's thigh. She gave Talaitha a knowing smile. "I shall leave you to tend to it as you will."

"You can turn around now," said Talaitha, her voice tinged with amusement. "I need your help anyway."

When Thorin looked at her again, he nearly fell off the chair. Her leg was still uncovered, and though he noticed the wound, he paid far more attention to the pale skin of her shapely thigh. His fingers twitched, longing to touch it.

She cleared her throat. Thorin tore his gaze away from the inviting sight, catching a glimpse of a coy glimmer in her eyes. The little minx knew he could not indulge in his desire and was deliberately toying with him.

 _Mahal_ give him strength.

"What do you need?" he asked, more roughly than he'd intended.

The teasing smile remained on her lips. "The small bottle of pale green paste in my _tarsoly_."

He brought it to her and reclaimed his chair by the bed to watch her work. First, Talaitha cleaned away the dried blood, then uncapped the bottle and dipped the end of a cloth into the paste, gently dabbing it over the wound. A familiar scent wafted towards him.

"Witch hazel," he murmured, with a scowl.

"Yes, it's the same balm that I used on your cuts." She wrapped a clean bandage around her thigh and pulled down the gown. "You shouldn't hate the plant so much, for it will ease the pain in my leg."

"In that case, perhaps I shall grow as fond of it as I am of you."

Before she could reply, a knock sounded on the door and Bilbo peeked his head inside. "I come bearing food." He entered with a tray, smiling sheepishly. "And dwarves."

Talaitha giggled as Fili and Kili bounded in, nearly colliding with the hobbit, and perched at the foot of her bed. The rest of the Company followed more sedately, though no less happily.

"When Bilbo told us you were awake, we had to come and see you right away," said Kili, grinning brightly.

Fili nodded. "He said you would probably want to rest some more."

"But you've been asleep for over half a day, so we figured you'd want some company instead."

"Were we right?" Ori asked shyly.

Talaitha smiled. "Absolutely!"

As she ate her breakfast, she listened to Bilbo and the dwarves recount their escape from Mirkwood. They were all in much lighter spirits, and even Thorin seemed less burdened, occasionally interjecting his own complaints about the universally-hated barrels.

Talaitha realized, then, that this motley group of dwarves had become a sort of family to her. And she was grateful for that.


	22. Dwarf Defenders

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Master is icky, but the dwarves are sweet. Talaitha gets better acquainted with Thorin...

By that afternoon, Talaitha had regained enough strength to move out of the healing ward and into her new quarters near the Company. Thorin accompanied her as she limped across the wooden planks, one hand on his arm for support and the other clutching Ori's card. The vase of flowers Dori had picked for her was being carried by Bilbo, who followed the pair.

"It's just occurred to me," the hobbit said. "That belladonna is a toxic plant."

"Very toxic," Talaitha replied. "But in small doses, it is often effective in countering many poisons. However, the antidote also had red clover, which cleanses the blood."

"How did you know the healer would use the correct amount?" asked Bilbo. "It seems like an awful lot of trust to place in a stranger." Thorin grunted in agreement.

"I didn't, but I was probably going to die anyway."

She saw the dwarf's glower and ignored it. Talaitha realized that perhaps she was taking her poisoning too lightly, but it was the only way she could cope with it. If she thought about how close to death she'd come, a panic would set in. She couldn't risk that, for she needed to remain level-headed, especially now that they were nearing Erebor. And Smaug.

Their proximity to the place where so many of Thorin's kin had died was starting to affect him. He hadn't said anything--not to Talaitha, at least--, but she felt the tension radiating from him. Now that the happy reunion between her and the dwarves had passed, Thorin's jaw clenched tightly and the muscles in the arm she held were firm and taut.

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, as though he had sensed her thoughts. She must have looked anxious, or at least solemnly contemplative, for he placed his free hand on hers and gave her the barest of smiles. But it was enough.

#

The people of Lake Town had never seen a szelemér before. Nor, for that matter, had they seen a hobbit before. Bilbo had been explaining the differences between hobbits and dwarves since they'd arrived, and he was growing weary of it.

 _No, hobbits are_ not _like dwarves. No, we don't grow beards. Yes, we have hair on our feet instead. No, we're not like elves_ either _, even though our ears are pointed, too. Yes, there are more of my kind._

The humans questioned Talaitha similarly during dinner, which was the first time she'd joined them for a meal since arriving.

_Are you a dwarf? I thought their women-folk had beards, too._

_Beggin' your pardon, Miss, but you're awfully short for an elf._

_You look like the hobbit. Do you have hairy feet, too?_

_If you're a fairy, where are your wings?_

_Can you do magic?_

The dwarves found the interview very entertaining, laughing every time she turned her back to prove to the humans that she did not, in fact, have wings. Bofur and Kili even joined in, asking her why she was wearing a child's dress. Talaitha blushed and replied with a string of Szila curses. Though the two dwarves didn't understand the words, they certainly grasped the meaning. Their grins widened.

"I've given the seamstress my measurements," she said, pelting Kili, who was still laughing, with a grape. "I should have a proper dress by tomorrow."

Beside her, Thorin tried to hide his smirk. The dress Talaitha wore was pink with bright flowers and was clearly intended for a young girl. It made her features look even more youthful, to the point that Thorin hesitated before he took her hand beneath the table. A sense of calm washed over him, as she entwined her fingers with his. Taking a swig of ale, he allowed himself to enjoy the moment.

That moment, however, was short-lived.

The Master silenced the light-hearted banter when he raised his wine glass in a toast to Talaitha's recovery. But the fairy saw through the man's polite and welcoming veneer. He only cared about what Thorin and Company could do for him. She glanced at the dwarf king and saw he was watching the Master with thinly veiled disdain.

"Now, Milady, I am rather curious about your attack," said the man. "If it is not too traumatic to speak of."

Talaitha forced a smile. "I can speak of it. What would you like to know?"

"How many orcs were there? Do you believe they will pursue you?"

 _You mean_ , Talaitha thought wryly. _Do I believe they're a threat to you_.

"About a dozen, I think," she replied. "I have no reason to believe they were after me. It's more likely that their intended target was my elf companion."

That was a lie, for the orcs in the scouting party had had no reason to harm Legolas. Some of them had been present outside the goblin tunnels, so if she'd recognized them, they'd probably remembered her, too.

"I did not realize orcs had quarrel with the wood elves."

"Orcs have quarrel with most races," Talaitha said, shrugging. "I do not know their business, nor do I wish to, but you must admit that I am hardly someone who would interest them."

The Master considered her words, then smiled, apparently satisfied with her explanation.

"Embla tells me you are also a healer."

Talaitha's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, before she realized that Embla must have been the woman who had tended to her.

"I am," she replied. "I have traveled to many places in Middle-earth as a healer."

"And that is how you met the elf prince?"

Talaitha nodded and felt Thorin stiffen beside her. "Though before the attack, I had not seen him for quite some time."

"He seemed rather concerned about you," said the Master, eyes glinting with his unspoken meaning. "At least from what the guards told me."

"As I would be for him, had our circumstances been reversed. That is customary of friends, is it not?"

"Your _friends_ are many, Milady." The Master spread his arms, indicating his guests. "Dwarves, elves, and a halfling."

Thorin tensed, his thumb stilling on her knuckles. Talaitha squeezed his hand in a silent reminder to remain calm, though she, too, was riled by the Master's insinuation. The rest of the dwarves watched the uneasy exchange, their glares mirroring Thorin's. She wasn't sure what the man's intent was, but she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd unsettled her.

"Being on good terms with the peoples of Middle-earth is certainly a boon when one travels as much as I do."

Before the Master could reply, Thorin stood.

"Thank you for your hospitality, but I believe it is time we retired for the night." His tone was firm and laced with a warning.

If the Master was daunted, he didn't show it. His leer was replaced with a smile, disingenuous though it was.

"Yes, of course," he said cheerfully. "I bid you all a good night, then, and shall see you in the morning."

Thorin nodded to the Company and pulled Talaitha to her feet. She was disgruntled that he didn't think she could stand on her own, but when her injured thigh muscle twinged in pain, she gratefully took the arm he offered.

Once the dwarves were out of earshot of the Master and his men, the complaints began.

"Can you believe that?" asked Bofur.

"He's disrespecting our fairy," said Dori, with a shake of his head.

"Our Talaitha is more of a lady than _that_ ," Ori agreed.

Bilbo chimed in. "I didn't like him even when I met him."

"Rude bastard." Nori scowled.

Kili appeared beside Talaitha. "Do you want us to knock him around a bit?"

"Because we can, you know," Fili affirmed.

"Isn't that right, Mr. Dwalin?" Kili called back to the tattooed warrior, who nodded curtly.

Thorin hid his amusement from the dwarves, not wanting to fuel them further. He was loath to admit it, but the Company needed Lake Town's assistance to reclaim Erebor. Even if the Master didn't offer soldiers, any supplies and provisions he gave would be crucial, for nearly all of theirs had been lost in Mirkwood. Thorin had no choice but to treat him with civility, though he wanted nothing more than to punch the man's leering face.

He was about to quiet his men, when Talaitha stopped and turned towards her defenders.

"I am grateful for your concern on my behalf," she said, a wry smile on her lips. "But unfortunately, the Master of Lake Town controls the food stores. We will need all the help we can get if we are to defeat Smaug."

She kissed each one on the cheek, giggling at their reactions. Fili appeared quite pleased with himself; Kili grinned mischievously; Dwalin grumbled but didn't move away; Bofur placed a hand to his cheek; Bilbo smiled; Nori winked; and Dori and Ori blushed. Not for the first time, Talaitha felt a wave of affection for the dwarves. They were uncouth and drank too much, but they were loyal to the bone.

#

Once Bilbo and the dwarves had retreated to their rooms, Thorin turned to Talaitha. She was gazing up at the crescent moon with a small smile. He wondered if she was concocting another story.

"I don't think anyone could live up there," she said. "They would slide right down the curve."

Thorin allowed himself to relax, as he was wont to do while with her. "Perhaps they hang from the edge like our miners."

"There would be too many people for it to anchor," she disagreed.

The thought of how absurd this conversation was briefly crossed his mind, but he shooed it away.

"Then perhaps the phases of the moon are simply a magical illusion."

Talaitha considered his suggestion, then nodded. "An illusion to keep the moon-people's existence a secret."

"Indeed." Thorin smiled fondly. He tucked a copper curl behind her pointed ear, his finger lingering on the tip. "You are unlike anyone I have met." The words echoed the ones he'd spoken during their first night in the Misty Mountains.

She grinned, playing along. "Have you met many fairies?"

"That is not how I meant it, you silly woman," he said gruffly.

Then, before she could say her line, he placed his hands on either side of her face and kissed her. Their lips melded together softly, seamlessly. Wrapping her arms around his neck, Talaitha boldly parted her lips and touched her tongue to his, smiling when his hands encircled her slim waist, his fingers pressing ever so slightly against the curve of her hips. They kissed like that, languidly tasting each other, until footsteps thudded towards them on the wooden boardwalk.

They broke apart, but Thorin hadn't finished with her yet. Taking her hand, he led her into the shadows, where they waited for the guard to pass. Thorin captured her lips once more, though this time, his kisses were more insistent. With their bodies flush against each other, Talaitha felt his long-suppressed desire. Her breath hitched.

"Did I hurt you?" Thorin asked, pulling away alarmed. "Is it your thigh?"

"It's more of what's pressing _into_ my thigh," she said dryly.

He leaned his forehead against hers. "I can no longer deny the effect you have on me." His fingers tightened on her waist, and he breathed deeply. "Come, we should sleep."

"But I thought you wanted-"

" _Mahal_. I do," Thorin groaned. "But not until you are recovered."

Despite his obvious desire, he looked so adamant that Talaitha didn't protest, though she did have one request.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" She met his gaze, and he saw her uncertainty. "I do not wish to be alone."

He smiled and placed a soft kiss on her forehead. "I do not wish to be alone either."


	23. Twice Interrupted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Talaitha get a little frisky.
> 
> As this was written before _DoS_ , I imagined the people of Lake Town to wear Nordic/Viking-inspired clothes, just going by the book. So the red dress Talaitha wears in this chapter is an example of that. A picture of it can be found in "Chapters 23-47" under "Soul Healing Images."

The following morning, Talaitha awoke to Thorin's arm around her middle, his bare chest pressed against her back, and his beard tickling her shoulder. From his slow, steady breathing, she knew he was still asleep, so she tried to extricate herself as carefully as she could. But as she lifted his arm, it tightened around her, as if by reflex.

"Where do you think you're going?" Thorin asked gruffly, pulling her flush against him.

With his morning erection against the back of her thigh and his fingers splayed across her belly, a heat rushed through her that had nothing to do with the warmth the dwarf exuded. At that moment, she wanted nothing more than to continue what they'd begun last night. Thorin had been insistent they wait until her wound healed, but that didn't mean she couldn't have a bit of fun.

"Nowhere now," she replied, shifting in such a way that her buttocks grazed his erection.

Thorin groaned and buried his face into Talaitha's curls. She repeated the motion, grinning when his hand moved from her stomach to her hip, at first pulling her into him and then squeezing to stop her movements.

"I stand firmly in my belief that we should wait," he said, though she noted his voice had deepened.

"You stand firmly in other ways, too."

Thorin turned her gently in his arms to face him. "Kili was right," he said, trailing a hand down her uninjured thigh. "You're a little minx."

"I'm a szelemér," she said simply, as though that explained everything.

"Is it common for szelemér females to tempt males?" He wasn't sure how he felt about Talaitha potentially behaving similarly with other men.

"It depends," she answered, with a one-shouldered shrug. "We are certainly bolder than the women-folk of other races I've encountered."

"So I have noticed." His gaze darkened and dipped below the neckline of her nightgown to the valley between her breasts.

Talaitha's voice lost its teasing quality, and she wouldn't look at him. "Sometimes...it gives people who are unfamiliar with the szelemér the wrong impression."

He knew she was referring to the Master's insinuations yesterday.

"Do not concern yourself with them."

"I don't," she said, her eyes still downcast. "Not for myself, at least."

Talaitha's insecurity tugged at Thorin's heart, and he hated Lake Town's Master for being the cause of it. He tilted up her chin and kissed her tenderly.

" _I_ do not concern myself with them," Thorin said, kissing her once more to lend credence to his assertion.

She smiled, reassured, and he realized he would do just about anything to see her happy.

"You must admit, though, that it is not every day a woman travels with thirteen males across Middle-earth. One can hardly blame people for their assumptions and curiosity."

"It is true," said Thorin, nodding. "I, too, was initially reluctant to allow you to accompany us, but I have never regretted it." He kissed her a third time. "Rather, I have come to enjoy your inclusion."

"Indeed," she replied. "That much is quite obvious."

Thorin jerked when Talaitha's hand brushed his softening erection, which began to harden anew under her touch. His mouth moved from her lips to her neck, peppering it with kisses. Her hand closed around his clothed cock, and he lightly bit her skin, moving lower and lower to the swells of her breasts. The sheer nightgown barely concealed the twin mounds, and as he cupped one of them through the fabric, her hand tightened around him.

"Mahal," he groaned, using his free hand to sling her uninjured thigh over his hip.

With his help, she shifted so that she was perched on top of him, knees bent on either side of his hips. He noticed that she rested most of her weight on the uninjured leg.

"Perhaps we should reposition," he said, but as she lowered herself to sit on his thighs, the suggestion fled his mind. "Or not."

Talaitha smiled and began to move her hand on his still-clothed erection, enjoying the way his hands tightened on her hips. Her other hand trailed up and down his bare torso, lingering over his chest and stomach muscles, the latter of which tensed beneath her fingers. He really was beautiful, she thought, with his sun-kissed skin and broad, strong shoulders that tapered into the hard lines of his abdomen.

She'd been so absorbed in her admiration that she hadn't noticed his hands had left her hips until suddenly, they were on her breasts, kneading them through the silk nightdress. A soft gasp escaped her lips, and her eyes fluttered shut, which pleased Thorin. His cock twitched in agreement.

And then there was a knock at the door.

Thorin could have growled in frustration.

"I'd better see who that is," Talaitha said, her voice tinged with lust.

She stood, taking a second to compose herself, and wrapped a robe over her revealing nightgown, further souring the dwarf's mood. Even though he'd insisted on waiting until she'd fully recovered, his cock had had other ideas.

Talaitha returned with an armful of clothes. The seamstresses had been busy, for they'd altered and sewn four dresses that would fit the fairy's smaller frame. As she spread them out on the bed, Thorin's brows furrowed.

"I prefer what you wore in Bag End," he said, moving behind her to wrap his arms around her waist.

She picked up a red, linen gown with bell sleeves and embroidered edges. "This one is quite pretty, though."

He rested his chin on her shoulder, smiling when she leaned back into him. "It will be on you."

"You're sweet," she said, resting a hand over his. "Much more so than I believed possible back in Bag End."

"Aye," he whispered, kissing her neck. "I shall leave you to dress. We will meet at breakfast?"

She turned in his arms and touched her lips to his.

"We will meet at breakfast."

#

The morning meal had been blessedly uneventful, because the Master had apparently learned manners overnight. He spoke courteously to Talaitha, particularly after she offered to help the healers while the Company sojourned. Thorin had shot her a hard look, but she'd ignored it.

Afterwards, the dwarf king pulled her aside. He did not look pleased.

"I was hoping you would remain with us," he said. "And that you would join us for training, if only to keep me company." His gaze flicked down to her thigh, the bandage hidden beneath her gown.

"I am more useful in the healing pavilion, but I shall join you all in the afternoons and evenings," she replied. "Besides, you and I can practice privately. Wouldn't that be more enjoyable?"

He couldn't be sure, but he thought he sensed a double meaning to her words, something more erotic than mere swordplay. His cock twitched in anticipation. Did she know how strongly she affected him? From the glimmer in her eyes, he suspected she did.

Well, two could play _that_ game.

"Perhaps," he said casually. "But I have always found sparring with different partners to be rather enjoyable."

Talaitha's eyes narrowed. "Is that so? Then you clearly have no need of me, for you have plenty of variety with thirteen." She turned, then, and began to walk away, but he caught the edge of her billowing sleeve.

"Do I sense jealousy?" he asked, smirking.

She gazed at him passively, though he saw a hint of amusement in her eyes. "That you prefer the others over me? Not at all. I am merely surprised."

He moved closer to her, his fingers still holding her sleeve. "Maybe I have a favorite."

"Everyone does."

"Aye, but not everyone is as fortunate as I."

She smiled, but her reply was cut short when Kili bounded over to them. Thorin resisted the urge to glare at his nephew.

"I know you're going off to heal now, Laitha" said the young dwarf. "But you'd better come train with us after. You owe me a rematch when your leg's healed."

"I will come," she assured and grinned as Kili rejoined the others. She looked at Thorin again and inclined her head towards the group. "They're waiting for you."

He nodded. "I will see you this afternoon."

"You shall."

As he let go of her sleeve, he allowed his hand to brush hers, bringing a small, private smile to her lips. It was all he dared to do in front of his men, but it sufficed.

#

"Bilbo, parry!" Thorin shouted, as the hobbit's little sword clashed harmlessly against his. "That _will_ not stop your enemy."

"Honestly," Bilbo panted. "Even if I parry a strike, I won't win."

"You definitely won't if you keep thinking like that," said the dwarf king gruffly. "If your opponent sees your uncertainty, he will take advantage of it. You cannot allow that."

"Hobbits aren't meant to fight, Thorin!" Bilbo was growing exasperated. He'd been sparring with Thorin for the last two hours but hadn't improved much.

"You killed that orc outside the goblin tunnels. You fought against the spiders. You may not become a warrior, Bilbo Baggins, but you are not completely defenseless."

Bilbo sighed and sat down on a log. The Company was on an island in the middle of the Long Lake, because Thorin wanted to avoid unwanted spectators while sparring. Bilbo didn't mind. Although he had become accustomed to embarrassing himself in front of the dwarves, he was less keen on strangers witnessing his blunders.

A light rain began to fall, further souring his mood. He was just shaking off a cold, and now he feared it would return.

"I'm not like Talaitha," Bilbo said. "She's adventurous. She can fight. You should have made her your burglar."

"Aye, perhaps. But for all her skills, she lacks invisibility." Thorin clapped an encouraging hand on Bilbo's shoulder and sat down beside him. He picked up the small, elvish blade, twirling it and checking its balance. "Does it have a name?"

"Sting," the hobbit replied, with a proud smile. "I named it after the spiders attacked us."

"A fitting name," said Thorin, handing the blade back to Bilbo. "I am loath to admit that the elves make fine swords."

"Indeed they do."

The hobbit was silent after that, listening to the sounds of the sparring dwarves and the rain splashing gently against the grass. Something had been niggling in the back of his mind, a question he'd had since finding Orcrist, Glamdring, and Sting in the trolls' cave.

"If yours and Gandalf's blades are elf-made, too, why don't they glow blue when orcs and goblins are near?"

"Yours does?" Thorin asked, surprised, for he hadn't paid much attention to the little sword until now. At Bilbo's nod, he shrugged. "Do not attempt to understand elves. You will not succeed."

"What about fairies?" Bilbo prompted hesitantly.

"Nor them," said Thorin, though his tone was much warmer than when he'd spoken of the elves.

"I suppose you're right," mused Bilbo. "I _still_ don't understand Talaitha completely."

As if summoned, the subject of their discussion was climbing out of a rowboat with Balin's help. Even from a distance, Thorin could see the slight limp in her step. He would carry her if she'd allow it, to spare her from pain.

"You do realize it's raining, don't you?" He heard her ask the dwarves, who'd paused in their sparring. Talaitha's arrival was as good a time as any for a break.

Bilbo glanced at Thorin, who was watching the fairy with soft, blue eyes. Bilbo wouldn't believe the dwarf king capable of such an expression if he hadn't seen it for himself. It was as if the weight of Thorin's burdens, of his people's fate, lightened in Talaitha's presence.

The hobbit must have been staring too intently, for the dwarf's hard voice pulled him from his thoughts. "What is it?"

Thorin knew what had captured Bilbo's attention, and he silently berated himself for displaying his emotions so plainly. It was unbefitting of a king, especially one who'd been exiled and was on the brink of reclaiming his kin's homeland. He glared at the hobbit, daring him to comment on his carelessness.

"Nothing," Bilbo mumbled. "I'll just go say hello to Talaitha."

Thorin watched Talaitha's face break into a grin at the hobbit's disgruntled expression. Though he couldn't hear what Bilbo was saying, he guessed it had something to do with their lengthy sparring match, for he accented his speech with slashing motions of his arm. The sound of Talaitha's laughter floated towards him, and he had to contain his smile as Balin sat down beside him on the log.

The white-haired dwarf was silent, observing Thorin with a very Gandalf-like glint in his eyes. He'd suspected the younger dwarf had grown fond of the fairy--they all had--, but he hadn't realized the extent of Thorin's affections until now. He cleared his throat, tearing the dwarf king's gaze away from Talaitha.

"We must begin preparations soon," Balin advised. "It could take a while to negotiate with the Master."

Thorin nodded. No matter what the man's price would be for supplies, Thorin couldn't pay it yet. He just had to hope that the man would be reasonable enough to agree to defer the Company's payment until Erebor was won and its riches reclaimed.

"Smaug's destruction is in his benefit, too," Thorin reminded. "The people of Lake Town live with the constant threat of attack. They glance warily at the mountain."

"Yes," Balin said. "But if the Master does not believe we will succeed, he may not waste resources on us."

And that was the bitter truth. What Thorin and his Company intended to do was tantamount to suicide in the eyes of most people. As much as he disliked the Master, the dwarf king couldn't fault him for hesitating to give precious food for what might likely be a fruitless endeavor.

As he looked at his companions, Thorin's heart was heavy with doubt and fear. He'd asked for their help, and they had come. But they scarcely knew the horror he was leading them to--leading his own _nephews_ to--, and the guilt that he'd usually stifled surged forth. Yet he had no choice. He had to finish what his father started. He had to give his people back their home.

Thorin's gaze was stormy as he nodded solemnly at Balin.

"We begin tomorrow."


	24. Reminiscences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A revelation about Thorin's past distances him and Talaitha. 
> 
> Richard Armitage's answer to one of the questions asked during Australia's Popcorn Taxi Q&A gave me the idea for the revelation.

"You cannot be serious," the Master breathed, agape. "Our forefathers, who were far greater in number, were massacred by the dragon, and you believe your fourteen will fare differently?"

Thorin quelled his irritation in favor of diplomacy, but he couldn't disguise the slight edge in his voice as he replied, "I believe my fourteen have a better chance of success than anyone else."

"Surely an army would be more effective," the Master mocked.

"Surely," said Thorin darkly. "But there is no army. There is only my Company."

The Master snorted. "Aye, a company that includes a halfling and a woman."

Some of the councilors snickered, and Thorin barely stopped himself from punching them in their large, greasy faces. He'd spent decades enduring man's ridicule; he could suffer through it one last time if it ensured he would receive assistance in his quest.

"A burglar and a healer," the dwarf king corrected. "The latter of whom is aiding your ill and injured as we speak."

The men sobered, for Talaitha had tended to a council member's child yesterday. The injury--a fractured arm--hadn't been serious, but the szelemér had given the boy a draught to numb the pain while she set the bone. The parents were spared seeing their son hurting, and it seemed the councilors remembered that now.

"Be that as it may," said the Master. "But you cannot take back your mountain if you are captive."

"What?" Thorin demanded, his hand moving to Orcrist's hilt. The man's taunting tone reminded him of the goblin king, and his next words even more so.

"I received a message from the elvish king that a troupe of dwarves had escaped from his dungeon."

The Master smirked at Thorin, as he unfolded the letter and read it aloud. The dwarf's expression grew darker with each sentence, until he was glaring at the man.

"My Company and I were wrongly imprisoned," Thorin growled. "We caused the elves no harm."

The Master shrugged. "You trespassed and that was enough." He held up a hand to silence Thorin's protests. "The feud between dwarves and elves is of no concern to me, but Thranduil is an ally Lake Town cannot afford to lose."

The man's threat was unspoken, but it nevertheless rang loudly and clearly in Thorin's mind. He felt a vicious anger boil forth, and it took all his strength to restrain it. Even so, some of the councilors eyed him warily, taking a step back as he strode towards the Master.

"You would hand us over to that _elf_?" Thorin spat. "The halfling, who is but a child in your eyes. The woman who even now wishes to help your people." Though he was much shorter than the Master, as their gazes met, he detected a flash of fear in the man's eyes, yet he did not flinch. "I spent years toiling in human towns to support my kin, yearning for the day when I could give them back their home. Over a century later, that desire still fuels me, and if goblins and orcs haven't deterred me, your threats won't either."

Thorin realized he was treading on dangerous ground. He was outnumbered here, and if the Master really intended to give him and his friends back to Thranduil, he'd be powerless to stop him. Yet he also knew humans to be a greedy, self-serving race, especially this particular human. If Thorin offered the Master a better alternative, Lake Town's friendship with Mirkwood would become less important. Besides, the elf prince was aware of the Company's presence in Lake Town and had apparently not informed his father. That had to count for something.

The Master laughed, and if Thorin had been a wolf, his hackles would have raised.

"Do not think I would hesitate to make good on my threats." As proof, the Master motioned to his guards, who surrounded Thorin with their weapons drawn. The dwarf's expression remained impassive, but he was mentally calculating his chances of success should the men attack him. They were in his favor, though barely.

"Then why have you not done so already?" asked Thorin.

Some of the councilors raised their eyebrows in surprise. Was the dwarf taunting the Master? Or calling his bluff? Either way, it was a risky gamble, and Thorin knew it, too.

"Give me one reason I should not."

Thorin nearly smirked. The man's self-serving nature had appeared again. Oh, he would do what was best for Lake Town, but only if it was also best for himself. If he stood to lose for his town's gain, his loyalty to it wavered. And so, Thorin understood the Master's unspoken question: Can you offer me more than Thranduil?

"I will defeat Smaug," the dwarf answered simply.

The Master watched Thorin with an unreadable expression, then dismissed his councilors and guards, the latter of whom looked nervously between the dwarf, with his obvious anger, and their superior. Thorin hid his confusion. Why would the man leave himself unprotected?

"The dragon could already be dead for all you know," said the Master. "It's been quiet for sixty years now."

Thorin smiled mirthlessly. "Smaug still lives, you can be sure of that. Dragons, like the elves, are regrettably long-lived beasts." He couldn't keep the animosity from his tone, though it was better to direct it at dragons and elves than at the vile human in front of him.

"It's never been a problem to us before," said the Master, shrugging. "We left it alone, and it left us alone. Thus, Lake Town would gain little in the unlikely event that you should succeed in killing it."

"Your people wouldn't have to live in fear of attack anymore. Is that not a gain?" But Thorin didn't allow the Master to reply. "Sooner or later, Smaug _will_ wake, and when he does, Lake Town will be in danger."

"Perhaps, but that may not be in my lifetime."

 _Now_ Thorin understood why the Master had dismissed his men. The sheer indifference with which he said that incensed Thorin, and he felt a wave of disgust for him. Thorin wasn't always proud of himself, of his actions, but he would never view so callously the present or future well-being of his people. Yet despite his outrage, he could not afford to antagonize the man too much.

"Or it could be next week," the dwarf replied coolly. "My Company and I are willing to march on Erebor to kill Smaug. All we ask for is assistance."

The Master considered Thorin's words. The dwarf looked and sounded sincere--determined, as though he had to finish this quest, or else whatever fire that drove him would be extinguished. But passion did not necessarily beget success.

"I cannot give you men," the Master said finally.

"I understand," Thorin nodded.

"A week's worth of food. No more."

"That shall suffice."

But to the dwarf's dismay, the Master wasn't finished. "...For the girl."

"No," Thorin snarled. "She comes with us."

"Then no deal." The Master shrugged, about to turn away.

Thorin gritted his teeth and reminded himself that this _begging_ was the only way to help his kin. "Once we have reclaimed Erebor, I will give you gold."

The man scoffed. "Why should I trust your word?"

"Trust it or don't. It's your choice." Again Thorin gambled, but he figured he didn't really have anything to lose at this point.

The Master was silent for a long time. Then, he nodded.

"Master dwarf, it seems we've reached an accord."

#

When Thorin entered the healing ward later that day, he wasn't surprised to find Talaitha surrounded by children. They seemed to like her, perhaps because she was closer to their size than most other adults were, or perhaps because they sensed that she liked them, too. Bilbo had mentioned she spent quite a bit of time with the hobbit children, but this was the first Thorin had seen of her interaction with little ones, and he couldn't suppress the resulting tightness in his chest. A young boy, no more than four-years-old, sat in her lap, his right arm splinted and in a sling. He must be the child who'd broken his arm yesterday. But what struck Thorin was how at ease they both appeared with each other. For a second, he allowed himself to imagine Talaitha holding their son like that.

When she looked up at him, he pushed the thought aside.

"Thorin," Talaitha greeted, with a smile that quickened his heartbeat. "I was just about to tell them a story. Perhaps you can help me?"

He glanced at the children, who were watching him with curious and expectant faces. "I am no story-teller."

The children looked disappointed, and he almost regretted saying no to them. Almost. He could weave a tale, certainly, but it would not be a happy one.

"What story do you want to hear?" Talaitha asked the young congregation. Her wry smile made Thorin suspicious.

"The dragon's mountain!"

"You hear that? I'm hardly qualified to tell them about Erebor, as I, too, only know tales."

She continued to smile at him, even after he flashed her a warning glare, and he silently cursed himself for his weak resolve. He could deny her nothing. With a sigh, he leaned against the frame of one of the beds and crossed his arms over his chest.

"If you're expecting a positive account of the dragon, you'll be disappointed," he cautioned. The children nodded, understanding. He looked at Talaitha, a silent question in his eyes, for he did not know how to begin.

But she did.

_Once upon a time, there was a young dwarf prince. He took after his grandfather, the mighty king, in many ways, and he was already a very skilled warrior. So skilled, in fact, that his grandfather assigned him his own legion when he was only twenty-four-years-old._

"But that's a grown up!" protested one of the children, a ginger-haired boy.

"In human years, yes," Talaitha replied. "But not in dwarf years. Dwarves live over twice as long as humans, so twenty-four is barely an adolescent to them."

Thorin resisted the urge to raise his eyebrows in surprise. She knew more about his kind than she'd intimated. He wasn't sure if he should be pleased or uneasy. What other knowledge was she hiding?

_The prince accompanied his father and grandfather to council sessions and meetings with other important people, even with elves. He learned about the world beyond Erebor's marble and rock walls, but he was content to remain with his people, for that was where his duty laid. He was a true prince in every way, and his grandfather was proud. Yet despite his royal status, he mingled with the common folk, especially while smithing._

"Why did the prince learn how to be a blacksmith?" asked a blonde girl. She was in the healing ward with a deep cut to her leg.

"Because he thought it a useful skill," Talaitha shrugged. "It enabled him to choose the finest weapon possible, or even make it himself."

The girl wrinkled her nose. "But it's messy. My father's a blacksmith, and he comes home every night dirty and sweaty."

Thorin's lips twitched, as he regarded the child. "You're right," he said, amused. "It is unbefitting of a prince."

Talaitha, too, smiled at the girl. "But don't forget, our prince is a dwarf. He is not afraid of a little dirt and sweat."

"Did he make himself a sword?" asked the little boy in her lap, twisting his torso to look up at her.

"He did," she nodded. "And a very strong one at that. It served him well for many years, through many battles."

"What happened to it?"

Talaitha glanced at Thorin out of the corner of her eye.

"It was lost." _And replaced with, of all things, an elvish blade_ , she thought, with a hint of humor. "But enough of the weapon talk. Back to the story."

_One day while training, one of his men lost his footing and took a bad fall. Because our prince was a noble dwarf, he left his closest friend and most talented warrior in charge and escorted the soldier to the healing ward himself, instead of sending him with a servant. And in the healing ward, he-_

"-Met a young woman," Thorin's deep voice interrupted. "A young healer, actually."

Talaitha's head snapped up in surprise, and she stared at him long enough for the children to look at her curiously. It was only when Thorin arched an eyebrow that she shook off the daze. His blue eyes held a mischief she'd only seen a few times.

"The healer tended to the soldier's injury, which turned out to be a mild ankle sprain, and moved on to her next patient," said Talaitha.

"And the prince returned to his men, but he couldn't get the pretty healer out of his head." Thorin didn't have to look at Talaitha for a blush to creep into her cheeks. Fortunately, the children were too focused on him to notice it.

"But she hadn't given the prince a second thought, though he was quite handsome." Talaitha saw the slight smirk on Thorin's lips. "She didn't think that royalty could have any interest in her, for she was a commoner."

"Aye," said Thorin. "Yet she intrigued him, and he sought her out, finding excuses to go to the healing ward."

"Until one afternoon, she finally confronted him." Now it was her turn to smirk. "She asked him if he had a _delicate_ illness or injury, one that he might be embarrassed to talk about."

"Like what?" asked a black-haired boy. He'd dislocated his shoulder earlier that day when he fell from a tree.

"Well, what's the most embarrassing ailment you can think of?" asked Talaitha.

The children chorused their replies.

"Upset stomach!"

"Falling off a chair and breaking a bone!"

"Tumbling down a hill!"

"Tripping and breaking your nose!"

"A cold when your nose drips!"

"Choking on a grape."

The last answer sounded so sheepish that Talaitha laughed, and even Thorin indulged the kids with a smile.

"Those are sufficiently embarrassing for our prince," Talaitha continued, nodding. "I'll let you choose for yourselves which the healer suspected."

"But the healer could wonder all she wanted, for he was neither ill nor injured," said Thorin. "Unless falling under a woman's charm counted as an ailment."

"The healer protested."

"The prince just smiled at her."

Before Thorin could continue, the blonde girl with the cut leg chimed in. "He should kiss her."

The other girls nodded sagely, while the boys made faces. But since there were more boys than girls in the children's healing ward, the kiss was vetoed.

"He can't kiss her," said Talaitha, looking at Thorin. "For she was only a guest in the mountain, and tomorrow she'd return to her home."

"Where?" asked the little boy in her lap.

"Far away across the sea," Thorin answered, his voice faint. Talaitha's heart skipped a beat. She'd never heard him sound like that, especially not about her.

"But she gave him a lock of her hair," Talaitha said, watching Thorin. "And told him that when the time was right, they'd meet again."

"The next day, she was gone."

"And in her place, the dragon came."

Thorin would have glared at her for her insistence to recount the day Smaug attacked, were it not for the tenderness in her eyes as their gazes met. He couldn't be angry with her. And as he looked at the children's attentive and excited faces, he knew he could not disappoint _them_ either.

So he told them about that fateful day. How the wind had changed almost unnaturally. How terrifying the beast looked as it appeared in the distance, flying ever nearer to the mountain. How the people of Dale blew the warning horns and tried to escape. How the city crumbled around them, as the dragon smashed roofs and walls and breathed orange-red fire. How Thorin had ushered everyone inside and bolted the massive marble and metal doors, knowing they wouldn't hold for long. How he'd stood at the front with the warriors and his father to defend his home and kin. How the doors were torn from their hinges, as if made of paper, and how Smaug's cruel, reptilian eyes surveyed the dwarves. How the beast roared and entered with a burst of flames that missed Thorin and his father by mere inches. How others weren't as lucky. How the dragon slithered inside, graceful despite its size, crushing, burning, or striking with its tail anyone who stood in the way. How Thorin's heart sank when he realized where his grandfather was, where Smaug was headed. How he shoved a few panicked dwarves outside but ran _inside_ to drag his grandfather our. How the Arkenstone was lost, claimed by Smaug, along with all the gold and jewels. How he became a pauper prince that day.

But he didn't--couldn't--tell them about _her_.

When he finished, Talaitha gave him a soft, simple smile. He'd satisfied the children's curiosity.

#

At dinner that night, Thorin was even more taciturn than usual, though few really noticed. Most of the Company, including Bilbo, had simply attributed his dark mood to the Master of Lake Town, but Talaitha, Balin, and Dwalin knew better. Talaitha didn't know the _precise_ reason, but she was certain it was related to the day Smaug attacked. Being so near the mountain again after over a century, and recounting that holocaust had made him relive it in a way he hadn't done before, no matter how much he'd agonized over it in the years following. She feared the children's innocent request had not been so innocent after all.

"How is Bilbo's training coming along?" she asked Thorin, in an attempt to pull him from his brooding.

"Better," he grunted, taking a long drink of his ale. He didn't place down his tankard, but held it tightly, with a faraway look in his eyes.

Talaitha shared a glance with Balin, his solemn expression worrying her even more. Dwalin was watching Thorin warily, as if expecting him to do something foolish. When Thorin pushed out his chair, the legs scraping noisily against the wood floor, Talaitha's head snapped up. He didn't look at her, at anyone, as he strode out of the dining hall. Bilbo's confused gaze met hers, but she just shook her head. She didn't know what prompted the dwarf to leave either. But Balin did, and he gave her the barest of nods.

Talaitha followed Thorin to a deserted dock from where Erebor was clearly visible.

He didn't turn as she approached.

"After all these years..."

She waited for him to continue, but all he did was clench his fists, the muscles in his forearms tensing to where she could distinguish each one individually. She longed to run a finger along them, but somehow she knew he was not to be touched. So instead, she stood beside him, gazing at the mountain in the moonlight. It was stark and imposing, like a warden standing guard over the surrounding lands. The lands it was supposed to but had failed to protect.

"You'll succeed."

Her soft reply seemed to jolt Thorin from his melancholia, but when he looked down at her, it was with a sadness that squeezed Talaitha's heart like a vise.

"It is not the quest," he said, with equal softness.

"Then what is it, Thorin?"

He gave her a small smile but shook his head slowly. "I do not wish to burden you."

"It is no burden, not when one cares about another."

But that seemed to be the wrong thing to say, for whatever emotion he'd shown was now shielded behind a blank expression. So she tried a different tactic.

"Surely talking will relieve some of the weight." She grinned. "Besides, I'm stronger than I appear."

"Much more inquisitive, too," he murmured, but there was no venom behind his words. She waited, calling on the patience she'd cultivated during her decades as a healer, while he continued to stare at Erebor.

Then, finally, he spoke.

"I loved someone once, a young dwarf maiden. She was a jeweler's daughter and was learning her father's trade."

Talaitha's heart sank. She wasn't sure what she'd been expecting, but it certainly hadn't been _that_. Though she masked her reaction, his confession hurt. And not just because his memories of the dwarf maiden pained him. She tried to listen as he described her, but a part of her wanted to run away.

"Her hair was the color of spun gold, and her eyes were as blue as sapphires." A sad smile appeared on his lips. "But she was not of royal birth."

So he couldn't marry her. They could have their dalliance--and they did--, but inevitably, he would take a noble woman as his wife. Thrór could have changed the law had he been inclined to, but Thorin's pleas had fallen on uncaring ears. _A_ _king's duty is to his people, not to his heart_ , his grandfather had said.

"That morning she'd gone to Dale to sell her father's wares, as she did every market day." Thorin's voice wavered, and he inhaled sharply. "She didn't have a chance."

The urge to flee was almost maddening, but Talaitha shoved it aside. Thorin had shared his grief on her request, and now she must endure both their pain. However, had she had any inkling of a past lover, she might not have been so curious. Only later would she realize it wasn't jealousy she'd felt. It was guilt.

"What was her name?" she asked, once she'd controlled her emotions.

"Riva."

Talaitha didn't acknowledge his reply, and she didn't try to comfort him. They stood next to each other in silence, not touching, for minutes, until Talaitha quietly slipped away. Before she turned the corner, she glanced back at Thorin. He still stood in the same position, back rigid, shoulders tense, staring unseeingly at the mountain.

She felt cold.


	25. Here and Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here there be fluff and dirty-minded dwarves.

They avoided each other for the next few days. It wasn't difficult to do; Talaitha spent her mornings and afternoons in the healing ward, while Thorin completed negotiations with the Master and continued to train Bilbo in swordplay. In the evenings, once her injury had healed, she would join the Company on the little island and spar with Fili and Kili. When she and Thorin crossed paths, they politely side-stepped each other. There was no ill will between them, yet there _was_ tension.

And that tension was felt by the others. Balin and Bilbo were the first to sense it, perhaps because they knew their respective friends best, or perhaps because they were simply the most observant. But soon Kili was pestering Talaitha, knowing he wouldn't learn anything from Thorin, asking why they seemed so distant now, when a few days ago, he'd seen his uncle stroke her cheek. She tried to wave him off, but his compliance never lasted long. Finally, one day, Talaitha snapped.

"Kili, don't you ever stop?"

Fili and Nori, who were closest to Kili and Talaitha, looked up in surprise at the fairy's sharp tone. However, before the dwarves could say anything, she picked up the hem of her dress and stomped off in the direction of the shore, leaving behind a wide-eyed Kili.

Bilbo sighed and pulled out his pipe, packing it with Lake Town's finest weed. It wasn't bad, but it wasn't Old Toby either. He moved towards the shore, just as Thorin did. The dwarf shook his head, which the hobbit took to mean he should stay. He sat down on a log and watched Thorin approach Talaitha with slow, almost hesitant steps.

She was sitting in the sand, elbows resting on bent knees, when Thorin came up behind her. She recognized him from the shadow the waning sunlight cast but didn't acknowledge him. He couldn't tell if she was angry or hurt, for lately she'd hidden all emotion while in his presence. He longed to know, but as usual in situations like these, he had no idea how to begin. To his relief, he didn't have to.

"I made a mistake." Talaitha's voice was quiet. "I didn't think when I agreed to the children's request for a story about Erebor."

Thorin crossed his arms, eyes trained on the setting sun. "It wasn't the tale." She looked up at him, at his tense stance, and waited. Only when her stare became too much did he continue. "I have not forgotten Riva. I doubt I ever could. Being here merely intensified the memories."

"I caused _this_ , though." And finally, for the first time in days, there was feeling in Talaitha's tone. Thorin didn't like how it sounded, but it was better than the apathy.

"I'd have told you about her," he said, steadily meeting her gaze. "If you came to Erebor, I'd have told you."

"My error was prematurity, then." She looked away, at the water lapping gently against the shore.

"Perhaps," he said, sitting down cross-legged beside her. His knee brushed her calf. "But it doesn't matter now. It's out. And it has changed us."

"Exactly," Talaitha huffed. "And it's all my-"

"But it has not broken us."

Her head snapped up to stare at him, her elbows slipping from her knees. He almost laughed at the surprise and disbelief on her face. "What is that reaction?"

"I didn't think you'd want anything to do with me now that...now that you'd remembered Riva."

Thorin _did_ chuckle at that, especially when irritation flashed across her face. He didn't realize until now how much he'd missed her expressions and open mannerisms. But he quickly sobered, partly for her benefit and partly because the subject matter demanded it.

"Remembering her won't bring her back. I'd accepted that long ago."

She looked at him with an unreadable expression, though he thought he saw a hint of curiosity in it. "But you loved her."

"I did," he nodded. "But it was not meant to be. Even if she'd survived, we would not be together now."

Talaitha was silent for a while, trying to make sense of the thoughts and emotions churning within. She felt off-kilter, unsteady, like she was walking along familiar ground but in the dark. She knew she wouldn't fall, but a stumble or two was inevitable.

"Do you miss her?" she finally asked, propping her elbows on her knees again.

"Sometimes." He shifted so that he was facing her. "But I've been given a second chance." _At love_. He didn't say that, though.

She straightened her knees and met his gaze. Her eyes were particularly green, and they lit up when she smiled. "So have I."

Thorin didn't know how she'd meant that, but when she allowed him to pull her into his lap, he didn't care. All he could think about was her light weight on his thighs, the tickle of her hair against his skin in the breeze, and her arms wrapped around his neck. He didn't care that Bilbo and the dwarves might be watching--some more discreetly than others. At that moment, he only cared that when he kissed her, she responded warmly, opening her mouth in invitation and curling her tongue against his. It was a slow, sensual kiss, filled with apologies and assurances and maybe even a little love.

#

The dwarves _had_ seen Talaitha and Thorin on the beach, and they discussed it at dinner that night. Their theories seemed to be supported by the fact that the two in question were conspicuously absent.

"Well, at least they made up," said Ori.

"They're probably _still_ making up," Kili quipped, with a laugh. Fili smacked him upside the head. "What? They're not here, are they?" the youngest Durin complained, as he rubbed his skull.

"How long d'ya think it's been goin' on?" Nori wondered.

Fili shrugged. "It's Uncle, so who knows with him."

"Talaitha does," Kili remarked.

"I saw them holding hands on the walk to Beorn's house," said Bofur. "But they split apart so quickly that at first I wasn't sure I'd seen it at all."

Dori chimed in. "And she slept in Thorin's coat that night in Bag End."

"I don't think Thorin would want you discussing his relationship with Talaitha," said Bilbo uncertainly. "Whatever that relationship is."

Kili scoffed. "What do you mean 'whatever that relationship is'? It's obvious, isn't it."

"Well, there are any number of reasons why they...did what they did on the island," Bilbo stammered. This conversation was becoming uncomfortable for him.

"Kissed, you mean," Bofur supplied, grinning.

"There's only one reason for kissing, Bilbo," Kili said meaningfully.

But it seemed the hobbit wasn't the only one who'd grown weary of the discussion. "Enough!" Dwalin growled. "It's not our business."

Kili mumbled something and stuffed a large piece of meat into his mouth, looking disgruntled for being reprimanded. Fili clapped a hand on his brother's back, amusement dancing in his blue eyes, while the others returned their attention to their dinners.

Bilbo sighed in relief. He'd grown accustomed to most of the dwarves' _unconventional_ manners, but when they talked of matters hobbits viewed as private, he still shied away. He might have been on an adventure, but he still possessed enough propriety to not think about Talaitha--his closest friend--doing _that_ sort of thing.

#

Kili would have been disappointed to learn that Thorin and Talaitha spent their evening innocently. There were no heated touches or passionate kisses. There was just them, the night, and the lapping of the water against the shore. They didn't speak at first. They didn't need to. Talaitha was content to lean against Thorin, and Thorin was content to simply hold her and keep her warm when the chill wind blew. She felt the steady beating of his heart against her back, the gentle strokes of his thumb on her belly, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd been at such peace.

"Do you think they saw?" Talaitha asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Undoubtedly," Thorin replied. "But they were bound to find out."

"Won't that affect how they view you?"

Thorin didn't have to see her face to know she was concerned. He could hear it in her tone, in the way her frown was almost audible. "They like you. They have come to respect you. They count you and Bilbo as their own."

He felt, rather than heard, her sigh. "Thank you," she said, resting her head against his shoulder. "But that doesn't answer my question."

"So insistent," he grumbled good-naturedly. "Yes, it will affect how they view me, but perhaps not negatively."

She murmured something in reply, but he was too focused on the rumble that reverberated through her body--and his by extension--to really care what. His distraction wasn't sexual, though he was certainly aware of the soft curve of her belly beneath his fingers and her ample cleavage when he glanced down over her shoulder. It was almost a sleepy distraction, an intense calm that had overtaken him. He hadn't felt like this with Riva, and for a moment, that realization troubled him. But when Talaitha tipped back her head to kiss his cheek, all thoughts of his past lover flew from his mind.

The szelemér woman was real, and she was here.


	26. Tiny Delay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company begins preparations to leave Lake Town, but there is a "tiny delay". 
> 
> This chapter was written before _The Desolation of Smaug_ came out, so it follows the book, with a line from the trailer. I like my portrayal of Bard, so I kept him as I originally wrote him, instead of rewriting to follow the second film.

It was their last day in Lake Town, much to everyone's relief, and the Master, true to his word, had ordered a week's worth of provisions to be loaded into three, large boats, each of which was manned by four men. When Thorin inspected the packs, he was surprised to find that in addition to food and water, there were blankets, extra cloaks, pots, and wooden bowls. He wondered what had prompted such generosity.

Although it had been growing chilly, the morning dawned particularly bleak and cold. Snow had begun to fall the night before, and it now blanketed the boardwalks and rooftops of the town in a soft, already-melting slush. It didn't bother the dwarves, who were a hardy and cold-resistant race, or the humans, who were accustomed to this weather, but Bilbo and Talaitha were less than pleased about it.

"I wish I were in the Shire," said Bilbo, wrapping his cloak around himself. "Where it's temperate year-round."

"Aye," Talaitha nodded, suppressing a shiver, as a wind from the north blew through her hair. "Or in Nemere. It's never this cold there."

Thorin watched the two with a smirk, though he yearned to wrap his arms around the szelemér and pull her close. "I do not believe all of Nemere is warm _all_ year."

"No, it's not," she replied testily. "But it _is_ in the south where I live, so I don't care what it's like in the rest of the country."

Thorin was amused by his discovery that when Talaitha was cold, she became petulant. He thought it an endearing quality, but he suspected she wouldn't find his observation quite as flattering in her current mood. So he kept his opinion to himself and followed his Company onto the boats. He was with Fili, Kili, Balin, Bilbo, and Talaitha. The rest of his kin were split between the two remaining boats.

He glanced over at the four men who would be rowing his boat. They looked like sailors, or what he imagined human sailors to look like. They were generally unkempt, but that was nothing new to Thorin. He'd encountered similar men in the human settlements in which he'd worked. And like those men, the sailors regarded the dwarves with unconcealed contempt. They didn't care whether the dwarves reclaimed Erebor, but they _did_ care that they had to sail close to the mountain in which they knew a sleeping dragon dwelled. Yet instead of blaming the Master, they directed their resentment at the dwarves and whoever traveled with them. What a far cry the people of Lake Town were from the long-dead residents of Dale.

Thorin's rumination was interrupted by footsteps behind him, then a voice tinged with scorn. "Your march on the mountain carries terrible risk. If you awaken that beast, you will destroy us all."

Thorin turned around and glared at the speaker, who was a tall man in his thirties. The brown hair that hung down to his shoulders was cleaner than that of the rowers, but he, too, wore simple clothing.

"What do you know of dragons?" Thorin growled. He was impatient to reach Erebor, and this man was delaying him.

"I know their hide is an impenetrable armor. I know their breath is fire," said the man ominously. "I know you will fail and that we will suffer for it."

Thorin clenched his jaw in an effort to control his anger, but instead of replying, he spun on his heel and stalked the rest of the way onto the boat. When he heard the man follow, his hand flew to Orcrist's hilt.

Balin and Talaitha saw his motion and stepped forward, Balin to greet the man and Talaitha to place a hand on Thorin's sword arm. He relaxed his grip on Orcrist, and he considered briefly how easily she could calm him. Perhaps months ago, he would have resisted her touch, but now he simply accepted it and was even glad for it.

"I am Balin, son of Fundin," said the white-haired dwarf.

"I am Bard, descendent of Lord Girion of Dale."

Thorin's eyes widened, but he kept his back to the man. He'd known Lord Girion well, for he and his grandfather had taken council many times together before Smaug had attacked. Dale and Erebor had been allies for centuries but never more so than when Girion had headed the human city.

Balin, too, had recognized the name. "Lord Girion was a good man," he said, looking sternly at Bard, as though to suggest that his descendent left much to be desired.

"So I've been told." A small smile tugged at Bard's lips when he saw Balin's critical stare. Then his gaze shifted to Talaitha. "My lady, will you grant me a moment?"

Talaitha felt Thorin tense beneath her hand, his grip tightening on Orcrist. "Be calm," she whispered to him, before squeezing his arm and smiling reassuringly. She sidestepped the dwarf king and joined Bard. "Of course."

"I...am told you are a skilled healer," Bard began hesitantly. "That you know remedies our healers do not."

"Yes. They are szelemér treatments."

"Can they help my son?"

Gone was the scorn from Bard's expression and tone. It was replaced with something akin to desperation. Balin and Thorin had seen a pompous man who'd criticized them, but all Talaitha saw was a father concerned for his son. Such a man could not be all bad. And so, despite Thorin's impatience to leave Lake Town, she felt she had to help Bard.

"I can only answer that once I have seen him," she said, picking up the skirts of her dress. "Take me to him."

But before she could step onto the dock, Thorin grasped her arm. "We do not have time for house visits," he said coldly. He might have changed somewhat, but there was still plenty of the old Thorin left in him. Usually Talaitha didn't mind, but this time, it angered her.

"It will not take long," she replied. Her normally light voice was sharp, and her eyes glinted dangerously. "It is a _child_ , Thorin."

He held her gaze, challenging her with a glare of his own, but when she didn't back down, he knew he had little choice but to acquiesce. He'd become familiar enough with her stubbornness, which was so like his own, to realize he'd been beaten. But that didn't mean he had to bow gracefully.

"Fine," he relented, releasing her arm. He looked up at Bard. "Lead on."

Thorin didn't have to see Talaitha's face to gauge her reaction; she practically radiated her ire. Yet if the situations were reversed, he would feel the same. He was behaving childishly, and he knew it, but the need to protect treasure--whether it be gold, jewels, or a woman--was inherent in dwarves. Could he have quelled that desire? Certainly, and he had managed to while Talaitha worked in the healing ward. He'd simply had enough of the men of Lake Town.

Never mind that Talaitha was the one who bore the discomfort of his displeasure.

"You are unbelievable," she muttered, as they turned down a small street.

Thorin sighed. "I cannot help what I am." That wasn't entirely true, but admitting otherwise would give Talaitha the upper hand, and his pride couldn't allow that. Not now. Not after the beating it had taken from the Master and his people.

"You had better learn to."

He didn't have a chance to reply, for they'd reached Bard's home, a two-story, wooden building that looked nearly identical to the others on the street. When they entered, Talaitha cheered up as the warmth from the fireplace enveloped her. Her bad mood was further chased away by the baby in Bard's arms. The man's ill son.

"How old is he?" Talaitha asked. She had a suspicion, but she hoped it was wrong.

"Nearly a month," Bard replied, smiling down sadly at his son. "His name is Tirion."

"He was born early?"

Bard nodded and handed Tirion to Talaitha. She held him carefully in one arm and placed her free hand on his chest, which rose and fell unevenly. He was struggling to breathe. She bent her head closer to hear his heartbeat and respiration. Both sounded clear, and that was a good sign. It meant he would survive.

"From what I can tell, Tirion's lungs aren't fully developed yet, which is why he's having trouble breathing," Talaitha explained. "But he's fortunate, because they'll catch up on their own. Many premature babies don't even live past their first hour."

Tirion whimpered and began squirming, as though he'd understood Talaitha's words, or at least her somber tone. And he might have, for babies were more aware than most people realized. Bard was about to reach for his son, but Talaitha started rocking him and humming softly, her free hand still resting over his heart.

As Thorin watched the fairy smile lovingly at the baby, a strange feeling crept into the pit of his stomach. It was similar to the one he'd experienced when she'd held the little boy with the broken arm, except much stronger, almost like a fire that spread into his chest and groin. It was simultaneously lust and something akin to love. It was supremely primal, instinctive, and masculine--the need to see her hold _his_ child.

"So he will live?" asked Bard.

"He will," Talaitha said. "I can help him along, though. Give his lungs a bit of a head start."

"How?"

She moved her free hand from Tirion's chest to Bard's arm and closed her eyes. Thorin had experienced her unique ability before, but this was the first time he'd seen her use it. The air around her seemed brighter, more alive for a second, but the yellow-orange light that flowed from her to Bard remained invisible to him.

She opened her eyes. "Like that."

Bard stared at his arm, then at Talaitha, agape. "It was warm."

"It was raw energy," she smiled. "I can share a little bit of my energy with Tirion to make his lungs stronger and help them develop more quickly."

"But you are not actually healing his lungs," said Bard, understanding. "You're helping his body do it."

Talaitha nodded. "Would you like me to?"

Bard glanced at Thorin. The dwarf crossed his arms. "It works," he said gruffly.

The man looked back at Talaitha, who was still rocking Tirion. His eyelids were drooping, and he was minutes away from falling asleep. Just the fact that Tirion felt safe enough to sleep in Talaitha's arms made Bard trust her.

"Yes," he said. "I would like you to."

Talaitha placed a hand on Tirion's chest again and closed her eyes, gently pushing a stream of energy to the baby. She had to be careful, though, for too much too quickly would overwhelm his little heart. That was true of all babies but premature ones especially.

Tirion's eyes opened the same time Talaitha's did. He seemed happier as he cooed up at the fairy, then at his father when he took him from her. Bard kissed his son's cheek and was rewarded with a tiny hand reaching for his nose.

"Thank you," he said, his eyes conveying the gratitude he could not voice.

Talaitha smiled softly. "You're welcome."

As Bard led them back to their boat, Thorin took Talaitha's hand and pulled her close. "You amaze me."

She grinned and laced her fingers with his. How easily he had forgotten his irritation over the delay.


	27. Two Halves of One Soul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company begins the final stretch of their journey, while Thorin eavesdrops on an important conversation.

Their progress was slow. The Long Lake had begun to freeze, so periodically, the sailors were forced to use their oars to break up the ice in the boats' path. It also became increasingly colder the farther north they rowed, until finally, on the second day, when they'd reached the River Running, Talaitha couldn't stand it anymore.

Thorin found her rummaging in one of the packs, grumbling to herself through chattering teeth. He smiled fondly. His coat had seen better days--and had certainly smelled better, too--, but it was warm from his body.

"Here."

He draped it over her shoulders. When she turned to face him, he pulled the coat around her, tucking her arms inside, and held it closed. Her shivering ceased, and she snuggled deeper into the garment, a content smile on her face.

"Thank you," she said, shuffling closer to him. "Reminds me of the night we met."

"You weren't dressed properly then either," he smirked, remembering the sheer midriff of her blouse.

"I was proper by szelemér standards," she huffed. "It's you dwarves who are always so covered up, what with all that armor, those coats, and the heavy boots."

"Don't forget the hats."

Talaitha giggled, glancing at Bofur in the adjacent boat. "Well, at least it's keeping him warm."

"Do not tell me that this mane of curly hair does not warm you," Thorin said, raising a skeptical brow. He touched a lock of her hair.

She shook her head, dislodging his hand and tousling her curls even more. "It does," she replied. "But a hat wouldn't hurt."

He reached up and pulled the hood of the cloak over her head. "Thorin!" she muttered, as the fabric slumped forward and covered her eyes.

"Sorry," he said, straightening it. "Better?"

Talaitha grinned. "Much. I do enjoy looking at you."

"You're a strange one, fairy," he snorted, but his lips twitched into a small smile.

Thorin had heard that some people believed a person's soul was split and that there was someone out there who possessed the other half. He'd always dismissed at the idea, for it was impossible to live with only half a soul, but as he wrapped his hands around Talaitha's and felt how well they fit together, he thought that maybe the concept wasn't so ridiculous after all.

#

As the boats drew nearer to Erebor, the sailors became increasingly nervous. They hardly took their gaze off the mountain, as if they expected the dragon to fly out of it at any moment. Thorin didn't know what the men thought they could do if Smaug attacked them; he wasn't even sure how _his_ Company would defeat the beast. But he didn't dwell on that. Not yet.

"The men will escort you to the shore but will not remain in the shadow of the mountain," said Bard, glancing at the sailors rowing tirelessly through the water.

The River Running flowed quickly enough that ice couldn't form, so the boats made more progress than they had in the Long Lake. Still, the men hadn't even stopped rowing for the night, though they did work in shifts. Thorin hadn't thought much of their manners or intelligence, but he had to admit they were of hardy stock, like the dwarves. And he supposed their etiquette was similar to that of some dwarves, too.

"I can hardly blame them," Thorin said. And it was true. If he wasn't the heir of Erebor, he wouldn't come near the mountain either.

Not for the first time, Thorin was overwhelmed with gratitude and respect for the dwarves, hobbit, and szelemér braving this quest with him. Balin, who, like Thorin, had experienced the dragon's fury. Dwalin, who was his closest friend and strongest warrior. Fili and Kili, his beloved sister-sons, so young and valiant. Bifur, Bofur, and Bombur, three adventurous yet loyal friends. Dori was a bit pessimistic but shared the same resolve as his brothers, Ori and Nori. Óin and Glóin, distant cousins but true to the end. Bilbo, the most unlikely member of the Company, but also the one who may prove to be the most important. And Talaitha, the woman who had managed to save Thorin, even if he didn't know it yet.

And the woman who had just swatted Kili on the shoulder. Thorin moved closer to listen to their conversation.

"Well, when you and Uncle skipped dinner after we'd seen you kissing on the island, what am I supposed to think?"

"Not _that_!" Talaitha protested. "Besides, what Thorin and I do or don't do is none of your business."

"That's what Dwalin said." Kili rolled his eyes. "You wore a sheer blouse when I met you. And you bathed in the same river as a Company of men with only a big rock separating us. You're no prude, little minx."

"Little minx? I'm older than you," she said flatly.

Kili grinned. "But you're smaller." He brushed some snow from his hair, then some from hers. "Alright, answer this, at least. Are you and Uncle together?"

Thorin drew even closer, ignoring Balin's questioning glance. He and Talaitha had never discussed their relationship, so he didn't know what it was, what it meant, and certainly not what it would become. He knew what _he_ wanted, but he had no idea what Talaitha did. He wished he could see her face, but then she and Kili would know he was eavesdropping.

"I...think we are _now_ , yes," she said, sighing. "But I don't know what will happen when Erebor is reclaimed."

To Thorin, she sounded apprehensive, and his heart twinged. He couldn't yet match words to his feelings, but he knew Talaitha was no passing dalliance. She fit far too well with him, in a way Riva had not and could not. He wondered if the reason he liked Talaitha was because, as a princess, she was convenient, but he promptly and viciously stomped on that notion. No, he cared about Talaitha because she was like fire and stone, two things a dwarf inherently loved. Her passion complemented his own, and the fact that she felt confident enough to challenge him was a welcome change from many of the dwarf women who had simply deferred to him because of his status. Not to mention, her hair reminded him of copper and her eyes of peridot. It was almost as though the Valar had created her specifically for him.

"What do you want to happen?" asked Kili.

"I honestly don't know."

His heart twinged again, for a different reason this time. He hadn't expected her to confess her love for him, not to his nephew, but the sheer uncertainty in her voice was disconcerting. Yet he couldn't fault her for it. He knew he was a difficult dwarf whose emotional armor was nearly impossible to penetrate, but Talaitha had slipped deftly through the links. She had helped him see past the angry, vengeful haze and reminded him that there was still good in the world. It wasn't her responsibility to keep him grounded, though, and even if he survived the quest, Thorin didn't know if he could be the partner she deserved.

"Uncle's more like his old self since you joined the Company," said Kili, smiling. "Like when Fili and I were dwarflings."

"I'm sure you two were a handful for your poor mother," Talaitha teased.

Kili nodded proudly. "Which is why Thorin helped. He taught us how to hunt and fight." A grin formed on the young dwarf's face as he reminisced. "I remember his reaction when I chose the bow as my main weapon. I think his exact words were 'An elvish weapon. Why am I not surprised?'"

Talaitha giggled. "Did you happen to like elves?"

"I'd never even met one," Kili replied. "But I'd always looked a bit different from the other male dwarves. Less stocky and less hairy." He shrugged. "I guess those are more elf-like characteristics."

"Your eyesight _is_ unusually keen," Talaitha agreed. "But what about your father?"

"You mean why didn't he teach us?" At her nod, he said simply, "Because he died when I was a baby."

Kili saw the sadness and sympathy in Talaitha's eyes, and before she could express them, he patted her hand. "It's alright. We had Uncle." Then, as if realizing the solemn turn their conversation had taken, he smirked mischievously. "And from the way he looks at you, we may have an aunt soon, too."

"Kili!" Talaitha swatted his shoulder again. "Enough."

Kili jested--at least Thorin thought he did--, but the idea was not an unwelcome one. She was a princess, though he would change the law if she weren't. She was open-minded enough to help him govern a race that wasn't her own. She had useful skills and would be an excellent mother. But most importantly, she had managed to nestle herself in his heart. Kili's joke rang truer than the young dwarf could have imagined.

The only problem was that Talaitha seemed reluctant to consider it.

#

At the end of the third day, they finally reached the western bank. As the boats were pulled onto the shore, the dwarves disembarked and unloaded their packs, ignoring the impatient glares of the sailors. The men wanted to leave the grim mountain behind as soon as possible.

Bard was the only one to join the dwarves on land, and despite their tense introduction, Thorin had warmed to him. He'd been civil during the journey, and seeing the man with his infant son had thawed some of the dwarf's initial dislike towards him.

"This is where I leave you, Thorin, son of Thráin," said Bard, extending a hand to the dwarf king. "Though I still do not agree with your plans, I wish you success. For all our sake."

Thorin clasped the man's hand, nodding curtly. It was a solemn parting, as such an event could only be, but at least the animosity had faded. In fact, it seemed to be replaced with a grudging respect in both parties.

Talaitha joined Thorin, as the Company watched the boats push off from the shore and begin their journey back to Lake Town. They were rowing upriver this time, but Thorin suspected that the burly sailors would have little trouble.

"He's the best of his kin," Talaitha remarked. A cold wind blew, but she barely felt it in Thorin's coat.

The dwarf king knew she'd meant Bard. "Aye," he agreed. "Though that is no difficult task."

Talaitha glanced up at him and giggled. "No, I suppose it isn't, but the healers were good people, too."

"Perhaps," he conceded. "But they are nothing like you. They work with a detached efficiency."

She turned to him, a grin on her lips. "Ah, but I'm not _like_ most people."

Thorin smiled back and brought a hand to her cheek. "And for that I am glad." He felt her cheeks warm, as a blush crept into them.

"My excellent bedside manner has nothing to do with skill," she explained, smirking playfully. "Because of my particular gift, I simply _cannot_ be detached from those I treat."

"Because you share your energy?"

"Yes," Talaitha nodded. "But it doesn't make me a better healer. On the contrary, sometimes I fear my empathy clouds my judgment."

Thorin turned away from her, staring at Erebor, and he was surprised he didn't feel as tense as he thought he would. He knew it was because of the woman beside him.

"Even a few months ago, I would have agreed," he said. "But I don't believe that anymore." He faced Talaitha again. "Sometimes it is empathy and sympathy that heal best."

She watched him curiously, her green eyes slightly narrowed and filled with questions. But she asked none of them, for in her heart, she knew what Thorin had meant. Such a statement from most other people wouldn't have been unusual, but from the dwarf standing before her--smiling softly down at her--, it was monumental.

And so she smiled, took his hand, and pulled him towards the waiting Company.


	28. Eve of the Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company finally reaches the mountain. 
> 
> The song I imagined Talaitha singing is "Cold as It Gets" by Patty Griffin. I think it fits the dwarves' situation rather well. Again, because this was written before _DoS_ came out, it's mostly book, with a little of the trailer.

Night descended upon the Company, whose members sat hunched and huddled around a fire. It was quiet, yet the air was charged with an intensity that unnerved them and added to their tense silence. Even the animals appeared to be absent. No owls hooted. No crickets chirped. No nightingales sang. It was as if they, too, sensed that something significant was about to happen here.

The wind picked up, blowing the flames sharply southward and rustling through the trees' dry leaves. Some fell into the fire, crackling and twisting as they burned. The Company watched, struck by the eerie parallel. Would they also burn like the leaves?

"I can't stand it anymore," said Nori. "Someone talk about something. Anythin'."

Bofur stretched out his legs. "Lovely night for a campfire."

"I wish we had some sausages to cook over it," Bombur lamented.

"I wish I had a cup of chamomile tea," Dori sighed.

"That'd put you right to sleep," Nori agreed. He turned towards Talaitha. "You wouldn't happen to have any in that medicine bag of yours, would you?"

Talaitha shook her head. "Sorry."

"I wish I had a bed," Bilbo mumbled, pulling his cloak tightly around him. "With lots of blankets."

Talaitha took out an extra cloak from one of the packs. "Here. It's big, but at least it will cover all of you."

The hobbit took it with a grateful smile, managing to wrap it around himself twice. Fili laughed. "You look like you're encased in a big, gray cocoon."

"Perhaps you'll emerge a beautiful butterfly," Kili teased good-naturedly.

"I may look ridiculous." Bilbo shrugged, the movement barely noticeable beneath the layers of fabric. "But at least I'm warm."

"Will you sing us a song?" Ori asked Talaitha.

"I can only recall one song," she replied, with pinched brows. "And it's not uplifting."

Ori glanced at his companions. None seemed averse to a song. "At least it'll break the silence for a while."

Talaitha had been leaning against Thorin, with his arm wrapped around her shoulders, but now she pulled away from him and sat up straight. She was silent for a moment, remembering the lyrics, before she began singing.

It was a melancholic song, meant for war and tragedy and a great betrayal committed against the composer. The dwarves, especially Thorin, related to it easily. The lyrics recalled children who had been thrown into fire, and the dwarves' children _had_ been thrown into literal fire, dragon-fire. Those who survived were forced to travel across Middle-earth in search of a new home. Erebor's supposed allies had abandoned it to Smaug, and its people to their uncertain future. It had truly been a dark time for the dwarves.

"Is that a szelemér song?" Thorin asked softly, when Talaitha had finished.

"No, it's an ancient song from Middle-earth, probably about Melkor's treachery against the elves and men. They sing it in some of the human settlements I've visited."

Fili yawned. "You're right. It wasn't the least bit reassuring," he said. "But your voice is soothing."

"Aye," said Thorin, smiling fondly at Talaitha.

The szelemér saw Bilbo yawn, too, and giggled. "Apparently soothing enough to lull these two to sleep."

"I spent most of the day shivering," the hobbit huffed. "That's why I'm tired."

Kili elbowed Fili. "And what about you, Brother?" he asked, with a smirk. "Did you spend the day shivering, too."

"No," the blond dwarf replied, elbowing Kili back. "I spent the day listening to you prattle on about your plans for how we're going to find the secret door."

"And how _are_ we going to find the secret door?" teased Bofur, grinning.

"Yes, do tell," Nori quipped.

"Oh, shut up," Kili mumbled sourly and crossed his arms. "I don't see the rest of _you_ thinking about it."

Before the conversation could become an argument, Thorin stood.

"Enough. We have to reach Erebor first, and then we can worry about the door," he said firmly but not unkindly. "For now, I think we should get some sleep. Dwalin, take the first watch. I will take the second."

Dwalin nodded and moved to the periphery of their group, sitting against a pine tree. The others unrolled their blankets and cloaks and laid them near the fire. Thorin settled down beside Talaitha, glanced at his kin, then moved closer to wrap an arm around her middle. He buried his face in her hair, which still smelled faintly of lilac. She was warm and soft, and soon, he began to drift off.

Before he fell asleep, he felt Talaitha turn towards him and kiss his brow. He smiled.

#

Thorin awoke at dawn, feeling better rested than he had in a long time. From her slow, steady breathing, he knew Talaitha was still asleep, so he carefully removed his arm from around her and sat up. Nori was keeping watch, sitting against the same tree as Dwalin had been. Thorin stood, frowning.

"Why didn't Dwalin wake me?" he asked.

"He said you were sleepin' too peacefully," Nori replied meaningfully and glanced back at Talaitha. "I think it's the most you've slept since this quest began."

Thorin looked at Talaitha, as well. "He still should have woken me."

"I didn't mind," said the other, with a shrug. "Besides, I know the comfort of a woman all too well."

In the past, Thorin might have bristled at such words, but now he only mumbled something unintelligible. If one looked closely, though, it almost seemed like he was blushing

Nori smiled and stood. "If you wake our fairy, I'll get the others."

As Thorin gently shook Talaitha awake, a warmth washed over him.

 _Our fairy_.

#

Snow was already blanketing the ground when the Company began their trek after breakfast. The days were growing shorter; the nights, longer, and Thorin insisted on an early start, despite his men's grumbles. They had woken later and had slept in comfortable beds during their sojourn in Lake Town, so now the chill dawn was an unpleasant change.

Talaitha bundled herself up in Thorin's coat and fell in beside Bilbo, who was yawning and shivering. He hadn't slept as well as Talaitha had, for she'd been warm in Thorin's embrace. That thought made her wince. How many of the dwarves had seen him holding her? Dwalin and Nori certainly, but the others? If they had, they said nothing, not even Fili and Kili. She sighed. They all knew there was _something_ between Thorin and Talaitha, so she supposed at this point, it mattered little if they saw.

"What's wrong?" asked Bilbo. He'd heard her sigh.

"I'm just thinking about the dwarves," Talaitha replied, lowering her voice. "It's one thing for you to know about Thorin and me. But them?" She shook her head, brows furrowed. "What will they think of him?"

Bilbo slowed and readjusted the pack on his shoulders, as he considered her quandary. "Well, I don't think there's a dwarf more against elves than Thorin, so if he's accepted you--and he has--, then the others will have, too."

"I'm not an elf," she said dryly, arching a brow at the hobbit. "And I didn't ask what they'd think of _me_."

"Look, I doubt they'll lose respect for Thorin because he's taken it up with someone whose race is related to elves," said Bilbo. "Dwalin woke up Nori instead so that Thorin could sleep. They both saw you two and seemed fine with it."

"How do you know?"

Bilbo scowled. "I woke up because Nori almost tripped over me."

Talaitha giggled, drawing curious glances from the dwarves, including Thorin. She smiled and shook her head, then refocused her attention on Bilbo. "No wonder you're so tired."

"Exactly," the hobbit groused. "The Lake Towners could've given us ponies."

"But I thought you liked walking," Talaitha teased, with a fond smile. "After all, you did take a walking holiday to Frogmorton once."

"Oh, hush," Bilbo muttered, blushing and crossing his arms. "I can't believe Gandalf told you that."

The rest of the day's journey was quiet and weary for the most part. The farther from the shore they went, the bleaker the landscape became. Sparse patches of grass grew, but there were only a few barren trees and bushes among the sea of broken and blackened stumps.

In the afternoon, Balin took Talaitha's place at the rear with Bilbo, so that she could walk up front with Thorin. He gave her a small nod when she joined him, but she saw the half-smile on his lips. In such an environment, half-smiles were all they could muster, for the desolation was soul-crushing. Especially for Thorin, Balin, and Dwalin.

"All of this was green and fair once," Thorin murmured, only loudly enough for Talaitha and his nephews to hear. "And look at it now."

Talaitha did something quite risky then. She moved closer to him and took his hand. Resisting the urge to glance back to gauge the dwarves' reactions, she tightened her hold. "When you are King under the Mountain, it will be green and fair once more."

Thorin didn't reply, but when he squeezed her hand instead of wrenching his free, Talaitha knew she'd done the right thing. That small reassurance bolstered her enough that when they camped for the night, she sang a cheerful song from her homeland.

#

Nearly two days later, the Company reached the foot of the mountain, which was dark, silent, and looming. A powerful gloom settled over them, for although they had finally arrived at their destination, what awaited them inside was worse than anything they had encountered along the way.

"Bilbo, Fili, Kili, Balin, scout out the front gate to the south," said Thorin. "The rest of us will set up camp here."

"Why did you not go yourself?" Talaitha asked, sitting beside him on a low, flat ledge.

The map he unfolded in his lap was answer enough. "Balin knows what to look for. Kili has the keenest eyes, but Fili is best at sensing danger. And as our burglar, perhaps Bilbo can find another way inside so that this _map_ isn't necessary."

Thorin still didn't know the location of the secret door, and that was beginning to cause him anxiety. If they couldn't find it by Durin's Day, the quest will have been for naught.

"You're wrong," she smirked. " _I_ have the keenest eyes."

Thorin placed a hand on her knee and squeezed lightly, making her jump, though fortunately, she had stifled the yelp.

"True," he said, smiling at her reaction. "But I will not part with you unnecessarily."

It was a comment that made Talaitha long to throw her arms around him and kiss him, but with his kin watching, such a response was hardly appropriate. Thus, she settled for scooting closer to him and looping her arm through his.

As it was, she saw Bofur grin at them, before helping Bombur with the stew.

About an hour later, the scouting party returned. Balin appeared concerned, Bilbo looked frightened, and even Fili and Kili were somber.

"What did you see?" Thorin asked gruffly. Their expressions were hardly promising.

"We saw the ruins of Dale from the Ravenhill," said Balin. "And a crack in the front gate through which black smoke issued."

"So Smaug lives," Thorin said darkly, his eyes losing their previous warmth. "Did you see another way in?"

Bilbo shook his head. "Whatever entrance there may have been is now sealed by huge boulders."

Just then, the ground shook and the mountain rumbled. Bilbo's eyes widened, and Talaitha instinctively grabbed Thorin's arm, which snaked around her waist to steady her.

"Was that an earthquake?" Dori asked hesitantly, once the shaking had passed.

Balin looked at him ominously. "That, my lad, was a dragon."

"That's one _big_ dragon," Kili quipped nervously.

No one disagreed.


	29. A Door Opened

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin is a silly dwarf sometimes when it comes to Talaitha. The door opens. 
> 
> Again, written before _DoS_ , so my interpretation of the book.

The next day, the Company was still no closer to finding the hidden entrance. They split into groups to explore the base of the mountain and even climbed up onto the first ledge. But their search had been in vain. The rock faces were smooth and unmarred by anything resembling a keyhole.

It was late afternoon when they'd finally reconvened at their camp for a meal. During his scouting, Kili had shot three rabbits, which lifted the Company's spirits, because it meant that they wouldn't have to ration the food from Lake Town as much. Talaitha, too, had returned with a small bounty, consisting of edible roots, a few wild vegetables, and berries that had managed to survive the frost. But to find the plants, she'd had to venture away from the mountain. Thorin had initially refused to let her go, until Fili agreed to accompany her.

The dwarf king's displeasure faded when he smelled the savory stew full of rabbit meat, Talaitha's vegetables, and Lake Town's spices. After such a fruitless exploration of the mountain, the hearty soup cheered everyone.

"I am glad you argued with me today," said Thorin, taking Talaitha's hand.

She raised her eyebrows in surprise. "That's one of the last things I ever expected you to say."

"Do not grow accustomed to it," he warned half-heartedly. A part of him still clung to his old ways, but he was coming around. With each passing day, he allowed himself to relinquish a little more control.

The szelemér shook her head, a small smile gracing her lips. "Have you forgotten that I _am_ capable of defending myself?"

"I have not," Thorin said, placing a kiss upon her knuckles. "I merely wish for you to be safe."

She looked up at him through her lashes with a characteristic soft smile. It was her eyes, though, that held Thorin's attention, for in them, he saw something startlingly similar to when Riva had told him she loved him. But as soon as Thorin's expression changed, that something was gone from Talaitha's eyes.

And the moment went from slightly awkward to very uncomfortable in mere seconds.

"Oi, lovebirds!" cried Bofur, with a cheeky grin. "You'd better come eat, or else Bombur'll have your share."

Thorin glared at Bofur, as Talaitha's blush attempted to match her hair. But when she buried her face in his shoulder and giggled in embarrassment, his aggravation ebbed away. Suppressing the grin that threatened to form, he and Talaitha joined the rest of the Company around the fire, eating their stews in contented silence. Though his countenance was the epitome of composure, Thorin rejoiced internally at the warmth that reached down to his very soul. A warmth that had nothing to do with the steaming soup.

#

Bilbo had taken to spending hours staring at Thorin's map and its moon runes, convinced that if he concentrated on them hard enough, they would reveal the location of the secret door. He'd tried reading it by the firelight and under the light of the waning moon, and he'd even mumbled at it incoherently. He'd become obsessed, and Talaitha was concerned.

"Take a break," she urged, placing a bowl of dried fruits and nuts into his lap. "You'll give yourself a headache if you keep squinting at that map."

The hobbit groaned, rubbing his temples. "Too late." He cheered up somewhat when he bit into a dried apple. "You know, Thorin should be the one giving himself headaches over this map, but he doesn't seem the least bit interested in it."

"I'm sure he would be if you'd put it down for a minute." She chewed thoughtfully on some almonds, as she considered her friend. "Why _are_ you so interested in it? The sooner we find the door, the sooner you'll have to encounter Smaug."

Bilbo shrugged. "I've always liked maps and puzzles. I'm beginning to think, though, that this puzzle is unsolvable." He watched Fili and Kili return with Thorin from yet another unsuccessful search of the mountain. They'd climbed higher than before but still found no sign of the secret door. "They don't even know Ancient Dwarvish anymore."

"There's a reason it's called _Ancient_ Dwarvish," quipped Talaitha dryly. "I don't think the creators of the map thought their kin would ever forget the language, and their descendents probably never thought they'd need to use the map."

Heavy footsteps drew Bilbo's attention.

"Well?" asked Thorin expectantly.

"Still nothing," said the hobbit, glancing at the ill-tempered dwarf with wary eyes.

Thorin let out a frustrated sound between a curse and a growl and sat down beside Talaitha. "Durin's Day is nearly upon us."

"Which side did you search today?" she asked, unperturbed by his scowl. On the contrary, she scooted closer to him, so that their shoulders and thighs touched.

"Western," grunted Thorin. He felt his exasperation seep away, as his body came in contact with hers, and wondered if she could also purge a person's negative energy by absorbing it. The thought troubled him enough that he moved away from her.

Talaitha's bright, green eyes narrowed, but she didn't say anything. Turning her attention back to Bilbo, she left the dwarf to contemplate the extent of her abilities. And the more he did, the more concerned he became, until he'd convinced himself that sharing her energy wasn't the only skill she possessed.

He'd become so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't notice Bilbo was speaking to him until Talaitha's left leg, which was dangling from the ledge, _accidentally_ kicked his ankle. He looked up at her, startled, before the hobbit's words registered.

"I think you should search the western slope again, but higher this time. The finger on the map seems to be pointing to a specific spot on the mountain. I think that's where the door is."

Thorin regarded the hobbit skeptically. "You do not really believe that map is to scale, do you?"

"It couldn't hurt, Thorin," Talaitha sighed. "Take Bilbo and Kili."

"And you?" asked the dwarf king.

"I'll tackle the mountain _when_ you find the door."

Her stony expression warned him not to argue, that he would lose anyway, so he bit his tongue and glared balefully at an unfortunate, leaf-bare tree. What his grandfather would say if he could see him now, so readily deferring to a woman.

His mood was further soured when he caught sight of Talaitha's smug, almost taunting smile, as if she'd read his thoughts.

"Infuriating creature," he mumbled under his breath.

Her smile widened.

#

"We found it!"

At Kili's excited shout, Talaitha glanced up from seasoning the pheasant Nori had caught an hour ago. Thorin strode behind his nephew, while Bilbo jogged to keep up with the two taller dwarves. Most of the Company had remained in the camp, while Bilbo, Fili, Kili, and Thorin had scoured the western slope. Now the others gathered around, their tasks forgotten amidst the contagious exhilaration.

"You wouldn't _believe_ how hidden it was," said Kili, rolling his eyes. "We'd have missed the steps if we hadn't doubled back because Bilbo lost the map."

"I didn't lose the map," the hobbit protested wearily. "I dropped it while trying not to fall off the side of the mountain."

"You need sturdy boots," said Glóin. "I can make you a pair."

Bilbo gave the dwarf a peculiar look, but then he remembered his manners. "That's very kind, but no, thank you. Hobbits don't wear shoes."

"They're not shoes," Glóin corrected gently, as though he would a child. "They're dwarvish boots that'll stop you from sliding off mountains."

Thorin glared at the two in exasperation. "Discuss Mr. Baggins' footwear later. We need to move camp."

Talaitha cast an apprehensive glance at the mountain. "Up there?"

"Well, that's where the door is," Kili quipped dryly. "Oh, that's right. You have a fear of heights."

"A fear of _falling_ from them," she replied. "By the Valar, you are particularly tiresome today."

For an instant, Talaitha thought she might have offended the young dwarf, but he merely shrugged and leaned in to sniff the roasted pheasant.

"I helped find the door, so I'm allowed to be tiresome." He was about to take the wild bird off the spit, but Talaitha slapped his hand away.

"If you eat that now, you will be sick." She added a few dried branches to the fire and watched as the flames leapt up towards the pheasant. "Give it twenty more minutes."

Thorin nodded at his men. "Start packing up the camp."

Bilbo took over vigil of the pheasants, while Talaitha pulled Thorin behind a large oak tree. It was one of the few trees that had continued to thrive after the desolation wrought by the dragon. She smiled fondly, as she thought of the dwarf in front of her, regarding her with a combination of confusion and curiosity. He was not unlike his epithet, and not unlike the strong, persevering tree.

"Why did you recoil from me yesterday?"

Thorin raised his eyebrows, feigning ignorance. "I do not recall doing so."

She touched his arm and frowned at his tiny flinch. It was barely noticeable, but she'd felt it. After a long moment of watching his face, which he tried to coax into a passive expression, she removed her hand and stepped back.

"You did it again."

Thorin instinctively moved closer, but she held up a hand. "Don't. I might take your energy."

Thorin's mouth opened in surprise, and he struggled for words. Should he deny it? Continue to feign ignorance? Confess? She looked at him expectantly, so he closed his mouth and cleared his throat.

"You can really do that?"

"No," Talaitha said flatly. "But you seem to think I can."

"Because every time you touch me, I feel calmer." He tried to approach her again, and this time she let him. Their hands met, palms flat, fingers intertwining. Sure enough, Thorin felt his tension dissipate. "Like now."

"My gift is one-way. I can only give, not receive." His hand warmed slightly, and he knew she was illustrating her point. "But I know a healer who _can_ absorb another's energy, be it positive or negative, in addition to giving her own." Her brows furrowed as she remembered. "She always looked so drained afterwards."

"Then I am glad you lack that ability." His other hand cradled her cheek, thumb tracing her lower lip. "But I still do not understand why your touch has such an effect on me."

She kissed his finger, before smiling wryly. "Neither do I, but I suspect Gandalf does. In fact, I suspect he knew in Bag End."

Thorin scowled. "That is just one of the questions I would ask the wizard if he were here."

#

The next morning, the dwarves shouldered their packs and began the long ascent up the western slope. Fili and Kili led the way, because Thorin wouldn't leave Talaitha's side. She was simultaneously chagrined and relieved, embarrassed for being such a coward but glad for his support when the rocks felt precarious beneath her feet.

"What if the dragon causes another earthquake?" she asked, carefully placing one foot in front of the other on the narrow ledge. Every time she looked down at her feet to ensure she didn't misstep, her stomach flipped unpleasantly at the sight of the ground below. A gust of wind suddenly pushed her back, but Thorin's strong hands around her waist steadied her.

"It will not," Thorin replied, gently urging her forward. They'd fallen behind the others, but he didn't really mind; it allowed him time alone with Talaitha.

"You cannot know that."

He didn't have to see her face to know that a frown accompanied her words. "I will not let you fall." To lend credence to his assertion, his grip tightened around her.

"You'd better not," she warned. He smiled, as she braced one hand on the mountain side and clutched his arm with the other.

The narrow ledge became crude, narrow steps, and though she held his arm tightly enough to bruise, she climbed them without issue. Soon they'd reached the rest of the Company, who were waiting at the top of a cliff that overlooked the valley in which they'd previously made camp. Talaitha resisted the perverse urge to glance over the edge and gave Bilbo a tight smile instead. The hobbit didn't appear any more pleased than she did to be up so high.

After a few minutes' rest, they continued single-file along the ledge, until the mountain side opened into a large grotto with a grassy floor. Only when she'd reached the center did she breathe a sigh of relief and allow her wobbly legs a welcome reprieve. Sitting against a small boulder, she watched as some of the dwarves began setting up camp and building a fire, forming a circle of rocks around it to contain the embers and flames. Thorin, Balin, and Bilbo were searching for something, and it was only then that Talaitha realized something.

"You don't actually know where the door is, do you?" It was a rhetorical question, made all the more so by Thorin's glower.

"The walls are smooth. We couldn't find anything that looked like an entrance or a keyhole," Bilbo said, unfolding the map for the umpteenth time to look for any clues he might've missed.

Bofur pressed his ear to the wall and knocked on it. "Solid," he said. "But we could chip away at the rock with hammers and axes."

"That would alert Smaug to our presence," Thorin replied. "We must remain invisible and inaudible to him for as long as possible."

Talaitha's legs had stopped shaking, so she joined Bilbo by one of the walls, running her hands along its surface. It was too smooth to be natural.

"It's as if magic has sealed this door."

Her tone was soft, and Bilbo wasn't sure if she was speaking to the Company or to herself, though the others gathered around in interest. Thorin's eyes widened in realization.

"Moria."

Talaitha nodded, and when she saw the confused faces, she said, "The doors of Moria are enchanted to only open when one speaks the password."

"What's the password?" Kili asked.

"Friend." Thorin's reply was gruff.

They looked expectantly at the walls, but neither a keyhole nor a door appeared. Thorin exhaled harshly. "In Elvish."

" _Mellon_ ," said Talaitha, smiling.

But still nothing happened. They tried the word in Dwarvish. Nothing. They tried different words that were significant to dwarves in Khuzdul, Elvish, and the Common Tongue. But the mountain was silent and unmoving.

Sometime during their futile attempts to coax a reaction from the stone, Bilbo had wandered over to the pillar in the center of the grotto, searching it for an inscription. That was when he heard the sharp _crack_. A thrush was perched on the pillar, breaking snails' shells against it, watching the hobbit with curious, intelligent eyes. Bilbo nearly shouted in his excitement.

"Thorin, come here."

The dwarf king stood beside the hobbit, and when he saw the bird, understanding dawned. He looked across the grotto at the setting sun and the moon that was tilting towards the horizon. Anticipation filled him, as a ray of moonlight fell on the smooth wall of the mountain, followed by a loud _crack_. Pieces of rock split from the wall, falling in a pile on the grass. And there, about three feet from the floor, a hole appeared.

"The key," breathed Talaitha, while Thorin walked towards the wall. The others hung back out of respect. This was Thorin's privilege and responsibility.

He drew the key from his pocket and inserted it into the keyhole, turning it slowly, then stopped. Facing his kin, he inclined his head.

"This is your right, too."

The dwarves, Bilbo, and Talaitha braced against the rock and pushed, while Thorin turned the key all the way, until part of the wall sunk in to reveal a door five-feet-high, which swung soundlessly inward.

The Company gathered around Thorin and peered inside. All they saw was darkness.


	30. Into the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oops, the dragon's awoken. 
> 
> A note about Bilbo's ring in this chapter. I _know_ it doesn't truly grant the wearer invisibility and thus its invisibility cannot extend to a person touching the wearer. But because Tolkien hadn't worked out the significance of the One Ring yet when he wrote _The Hobbit_ , I felt it was safe to take slight liberty with it for the purpose of this story. It would be anachronistic to write the ring as it appears in _The Lord of the Rings_ , as technically, that version doesn't exist yet during this novel's events.

Their gazes turned to Bilbo, who shifted self-consciously from one foot to another. Now that the moment had arrived, he quailed. Why _had_ he been so eager to find that blasted door?

"I don't suppose we could delay it for a bit? Maybe have supper first?" Thorin arched a brow at him, and the hobbit sighed. "No, I thought not."

"This is just a reconnaissance mission," said Thorin, placing a hand on Bilbo's shoulder. "We'll discuss how to proceed based on the information you bring back."

The hobbit's expression must have still held fear, because Bofur clapped a hand on his back and grinned. "You've come a long way from the halfling who fainted in his hallway. You can do this."

Bilbo cringed internally at the memory of Talaitha's concerned face peering down at him and Thorin's scowl directed at him. That had not been his finest moment. But Bofur was right; he _had_ come a long way. He'd survived orcs and goblins and had managed to get the Company out of trouble twice in Mirkwood, albeit the latter one with Talaitha's help. He was no longer the hobbit who was content to read about the world from the comfort and safety of his favorite armchair. And that thought filled him with a very unhobbit-like sense of pride. Still, he saw no harm in asking his next question.

"Will anyone come with me?"

The dwarves averted their gazes, some looking more pained than others, but they all felt varying degrees of shame and embarrassment.

"Smaug knows the scent of dwarf," explained Balin apologetically. "But he doesn't know a hobbit's. You'll be alright, laddie."

"Just don't wake 'im," Bofur said, with a wink.

The dwarves continued to offer advice and words of encouragement, which were often accompanied by heavy hands on his shoulders and too-strong pats on his back. But he appreciated their support nonetheless, for it had been hard-earned.

Talaitha was unusually quiet, and there was a determined glint in her green eyes. Bilbo knew that look well, and he knew what she was going to say before the words even left her mouth.

"I will go with you."

Everyone's eyes were upon her, then, including Thorin's stormy blue-gray. "No, you won't," he said firmly.

She glared at him, her tone cold. "You will not forbid me from accompanying my closest friend."

Bilbo's eyes widened in surprise, and he tried to protest, but Talaitha and Thorin silenced him with a stern look. He closed his mouth and moved away from the couple, glad to escape the tension. The others, too, kept their distance.

"Your inclusion in this Company was as a healer, not as a burglar."

"So? Bilbo can't face Smaug alone, and since the dragon is familiar with the smell of dwarf, I am his only logical companion," Talaitha argued. Bilbo thought she had a point, and from their raised eyebrows and barely discernible nods, the dwarves seemed to agree.

Without glancing at the hobbit and his kin, Thorin all but dragged Talaitha behind a cluster of large rocks, shielding them from view.

"This was not part of the plan."

She shrugged. "Plans change."

"Not like this they don't," he growled. "I am still the leader of this Company. Allow me at least the _semblance_ of authority."

She scoffed. "And by that you mean you cannot stomach your men to see your authority flouted by a woman."

Thorin grabbed her shoulders, his grip almost strong enough to bruise. But she wasn't daunted, for she'd seen the anger leave his gaze.

"I cannot stomach you being near that dragon! If something were to happen to you..." He broke off, voice ragged with the things he could not say.

Talaitha's irritation softened. "My sweet Thorin." She touched his cheek, and he placed a hand over hers, leaning into her touch. She looked at him so tenderly that he'd thought she'd acquiesced. But then she shook her head sadly. "Please, Thorin. Bilbo is like family to me."

How he longed to tell her that she was the family he wanted to have, that she'd firmly entrenched herself in his heart, and that if he lost her, he might as well lose his heart, too. But he didn't say any of those things.

With a harsh sigh, he rested his forehead against hers and said, "Go."

"Thank you." She pressed her lips to his, allowing the chaste kiss to linger, before she slipped away. Thorin composed himself and followed.

"That ring of yours. Does its invisibility extend to others?" Thorin asked Bilbo.

The hobbit glanced between him and Talaitha, nodding hesitantly. "If I maintain physical contact with them, I think so." He held his hand out to the szelemér. She gave Thorin a small, grateful smile and took Bilbo's hand. He slid the ring onto his finger, and the dwarves watched as the two of them disappeared. They'd seen the trick, or magic, or whatever it was, a few times, but its novelty still hadn't worn off.

When they reappeared, Thorin looked grim but resigned. "Keep the ring on and stay together."

"Good luck, both of you," said Dori.

"We'll be waiting," Ori smiled.

As Bilbo and Talaitha entered the cave, it took all of Thorin's restraint not to pull her back and into his arms. Balin, in another bout of Gandalf-like intuition, placed a sympathetic hand on his king's shoulder.

The hobbit and fairy walked silently through the tunnel, initially keeping their gazes forward or on the ground in front of their feet to ensure they didn't stumble or collide with anything. The resulting noise would surely wake Smaug, and then their chances of success would diminish significantly. But as Talaitha's sharp vision adjusted to the darkness, she allowed her gaze to wander. That the passage was made at the height of the dwarves' skill was readily apparent. It was straight, smooth-floored, and smooth-sided, a far cry from even the wood elves' tunnels. When the path gradually began to slope downward, Bilbo took Talaitha's hand and slipped on the ring.

"Are you afraid?" he whispered.

She squeezed his hand and whispered back, "Terrified."

"Me, too."

As they descended, the air grew steadily warmer and more humid, causing beads of sweat to form on their foreheads. A reddish glow at the end of the tunnel seemed to beckon them, though it could have simply been their nervous, overactive imaginations that made it appear as such. But they knew one thing for sure--they were nearing the dragon's den. Although invisible to each other, they reckoned they had the same wary expression on their faces.

And then they heard it, a sort of throbbing, rumbling sound. Snores. If the situation weren't so perilous, they might have laughed at the idea of such a beast snoring, but as it was, the noise only heightened their fear. For a moment, Talaitha wondered what she'd gotten herself into, but then she wiped a sheen of sweat from her brow, steeled her resolve, and pulled the hobbit to the end of the tunnel. Craning their necks through the doorway, what they saw nearly took their breath away, and it certainly rendered them speechless.

On a bed of gold and jewels, an enormous, red-gold shape slept, its long tail coiled around itself. Gems had become embedded into his pale underside from the many years he'd spent lying on them, and he clutched a large, golden goblet between his claws. Talaitha noted they were nearly as long as she was tall.

They crept silently from the shadow of the doorway to the nearest edge of the treasure mound, as close to the dragon as they dared approach. Carefully, they each chose a piece of treasure--Bilbo, a golden goblet and Talaitha, a jewel-encrusted comb that she placed in her hair--, never taking their gazes from Smaug, before hurrying out of the chamber. They ran as quietly as they could back up the tunnel, their hearts beating wildly.

They startled the dwarves when they seemingly appeared out of nowhere, panting from the combined exertion of their run and their reaction to what'd just seen and done. They had actually stood next to Smaug and stolen some of his ill-gotten gold!

"Well?" asked Thorin expectantly, his gaze dropping to the golden goblet in Bilbo's hand.

"Smaug sleeps," the hobbit replied, once he'd caught his breath. He handed Thorin the cup. "And there are mountains of treasure in there."

For a moment, there was a strange gleam in the dwarf king's eyes, one that Talaitha had never seen before but that nevertheless worried her. She tried to tell herself it was merely the moonlight reflecting in his blue irises, but the reassurance was hollow. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, and she wondered if she had seen it at all.

"Our burglar has come through!" cheered Kili, slinging an arm around Bilbo's shoulders. "No offense, but I didn't think you would."

The hobbit laughed, the tension slowly leaving his body. "Neither did I."

While the dwarves and Bilbo settled around the fire to wait for dinner, Talaitha and Thorin remained by the mouth of the cave. He noticed the small, ornate comb in Talaitha's hair. Seeing where his gaze was directed, Talaitha pulled the comb out and offered it to him. He took it, only to slide it back into her hair with a smile.

"It suits you."

And it did. The emeralds glittered prettily in her copper-colored hair, and it pulled a section of curls back to expose one elf-like ear. He allowed his hand to linger there, his thumb tracing the pointed tip and over her four earrings.

"Are ear piercings a tradition among your people?"

Talaitha laughed. "Hardly. But warriors do tend to have more piercings than anyone else."

"Is that why you got these?" he teased. He tucked her curls behind her right ear to see the three earrings there. Seven in all, she had.

"I am hardly a warrior," she quipped, with a grin. "I just like them, that's all, and seven is my lucky number."

"Seven, eh?" Thorin's gaze warmed with mischief. "We shall certainly be busy, then."

Talaitha's brows furrowed, but before she could ask what he'd meant, a loud rumbling shook the mountain beneath their feet, followed by a shriek of rage.

Smaug had awoken.

The dwarves sprang to their feet, frozen, listening, waiting with a mixture of curiosity and ever-increasing horror, as the dragon's footsteps echoed along the passage and grew fainter and fainter. Thorin's eyes widened in horrible realization.

"He's coming."

Seconds later, the dragon crashed through the front gate and took flight, breathing a stream of orange flames at the mountain top. The downdraft from his wings nearly forced the Company to the ground, and it would have knocked Bilbo over had Dwalin not steadied him.

"Get inside!" yelled Thorin, pushing Talaitha ahead, but he didn't follow until each member of his Company was safely inside the tunnel. They ran deeper, descending into the dark, and it was a good thing, too, for a burst of scorching-hot air and tongues of flame licked at their heels. In the chaos, Talaitha felt herself get shoved behind a sturdy mass along with Fili and Kili, and she knew it was Thorin who shielded them from Smaug's fire.

When the dragon had moved off, Talaitha sprang into healer mode, checking first Thorin for burns, then the others. They didn't dare build a fire inside the cave, for fear of attracting the dragon's attention should he return, so she did the best examination she could in the dark. Aside from singed hair and beard tips, everyone was unscathed.

"I feel like we're back in Mirkwood with how pitch black it is," Dori murmured.

"Kili, you're sitting on my foot," Fili grumbled.

"Then put your foot somewhere else," the brother snapped back.

"Quiet," Thorin hissed. "Spread out along the walls and go to sleep."

Talaitha crawled over to him, laughing quietly as he tensed when her hand brushed against his bent knee. "It's only me," she said softly, leaning into him. He lifted his arm up, jostling her in the process, and pulled her to lie against his chest.

Her brows furrowed. "You will not sleep?"

"Someone must keep watch," he replied quietly, though it sounded louder to Talaitha with her ear against his chest.

"Thorin, you cannot-"

"I will be fine." He rested his cheek atop her head, and she thought she felt him smile. "How can I not be when I have you in my arms?"

Tears sprang unbidden into her eyes, as he stroked her hair, his fingers twisting the fiery strands in a heart-stoppingly familiar manner. She tried to silence her sniffles, but she knew he'd heard them, for he kissed the top of her head.

"Sleep, my fairy."

And she did.


	31. Discussions with a Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A sweet, fluffy moment between Thorin and Talaitha. Thorin+Dwalin bonding. And the dragon speaks! 
> 
> This (rewritten) chapter is a composite of the book and film ( _DoS_ ). I didn't completely like how either handled the dwarves' run-in with Smaug, so I used aspects of both. The next chapter will better elucidate this, though.

In the void between sleep and wakefulness, Talaitha felt something prickly tickle her neck. She moved her head away, but the prickly thing followed, except this time, warmth accompanied it. It would've even been pleasant, if her neck hadn't started itching. She threw a hand up in the direction of the prickly thing, hitting it, then froze when she felt, rather than heard, a quiet chuckle.

"Thorin?" she murmured, her mind still foggy.

"I was wondering how long until you would wake."

She couldn't see him very clearly in the dark, but she suspected he was smirking. "I hit your head."

"You did." He laughed softly again and leaned in close to whisper in her ear. "I suppose that is what I get for nuzzling you in your sleep."

A shiver that had nothing to do with the chill in the tunnel ran up Talaitha's spine, and she pressed her face into his tunic. "I wanted to get rid of the offensive prickly thing that woke me from a dream of warmer places."

"Offensive prickly thing?" Thorin repeated, in mock-indignation. "Very well. Then you shall be rid of it."

Talaitha felt him shift beneath her, and she was unceremoniously deposited onto the cave floor. She huffed in irritation and stood. By now, her vision had adjusted enough that she could see Thorin looking at her, or at least in her general direction, with a grin.

"This will not be forgotten, Oakenshield," she muttered darkly.

"Oh, I beg to differ," he replied, sounding smug. "Take my hand and do not let me step on a dwarf or hobbit."

He led her up the tunnel, treading carefully and quietly according to Talaitha's directions, and emerged into the soft light of early dawn. The sun was just beginning to rise, and the sky was still streaked with pinks, purples, oranges, and blues.

They sat against a rock by the ledge, Thorin's arm around Talaitha's waist, as she snuggled into him for warmth. She had seen plenty of sunrises, but none equaled this one. She suspected it had more to do with the dwarf beside her than with the actual event, though that, too, was beautiful.

"Those are the Iron Hills," said Thorin, pointing to the tall, grass-covered mounds to the east. "There dwells my cousin, Dáin."

"Who did not offer his help," she remarked critically.

Thorin shrugged, but he was silently thrilled that she felt affronted on his behalf. "Everyone I could need or want is with me. Particularly at this moment."

She turned to him, and her breath faltered when she saw the look in his eyes. As if by instinct, she reached a hand into her hair and touched one of the many small, neat braids he'd constructed last night. She trailed her fingers down the braid, and they alighted upon something cold, hard, and etched with a raised design.

One of his hair beads.

"This means-" She broke off, her hand dropping into her lap. "What does this mean?"

Thorin watched her carefully to gauge her reaction. "It means I am yours," he replied softly. "If you should wish it."

She looked away, at the sun that was now fully risen, her fingers toying with the silver bead again. For a moment, Thorin thought she was going to pull it out, but she just kept fiddling with it while she thought. He could only see half her face, yet it was enough to worry him.

Finally, she met his eyes with a shy smile. "I have nothing to give in return."

An exhilaration such as he'd never felt before filled him. He buried his hands into her hair and pulled her close. "A kiss shall suffice."

She smiled sweetly and touched her lips to his, softly at first, then more firmly when Thorin responded. It was hardly one of their more passionate kisses, but it nevertheless conveyed everything they felt for each other.

"Why now?" she wondered.

Thorin leaned his forehead against hers. "Because you will face the dragon again today," he replied and kissed the tip of her nose. "And you must return to me."

#

As Talaitha walked hand-in-hand down the tunnel with Bilbo a second time, her mind was on that morning's events and what they meant for the present and future. If there _was_ a future. There were so many factors to consider, not least of them being that she and Thorin hailed from different races. Love between races was not unheard of, certainly--the tale of Beren and Lúthien was her favorite--, but those were between elves and humans or a szelemér and a human. And the latter instance was heavily shrouded in legend. There had never been a dwarf who had loved a non-dwarf. But _loving_ wasn't the problem. It was what inevitably came afterward that concerned her.

The sound of snoring pulled Talaitha from her thoughts, though Bilbo's insistent tugging on her arm would have succeeded, too. They'd reached the doorway to the chamber. Once they were sure the dragon was indeed asleep, they crept across the room, carefully avoiding stray coins and other pieces of treasure. Smaug had replaced the large, golden goblet in his claws with an ornate, amethyst crown that caught and held Talaitha's interest.

They had nearly made it to Smaug's hoard, when a thin, piercing ray of red reflected off a large diamond. Bilbo and Talaitha froze, not daring even to breathe. The dragon's left eye was slightly open. He had only been feigning sleep! What fools they were to believe they could skulk around his chamber unnoticed.

"Well, thief, I smell you and feel your air, though I cannot hear your breath. Curious," said the dragon, in a deep, rich baritone that sent a chill down Talaitha's spine. This was not what a dragon's voice was supposed to sound like, she thought. It was supposed to be crueler, uglier, to match its owner's evil deeds.

"But come along. There is treasure aplenty."

Bilbo and Talaitha remained motionless, but they couldn't hold their breaths much longer. The hobbit was the first to exhale.

"No, thank you," he replied, struggling to keep his voice steady. "I only wished to look upon you and decide for myself if you were truly as magnificent as the tales say. I did not believe them, you see."

"And do you now?" asked Smaug.

"Yes," Bilbo said, allowing a hint of awe to creep into his tone. "Songs and tales fall short."

The dragon raised his head and yawned, nearly sending the hobbit and fairy running at the sight of his huge, razor-sharp teeth.

"You're unusually polite for a thief and a liar." He laid his reptilian head onto his forelegs. "You are familiar with my name, but your scent is new to me. As is your companion's. Who are you?"

Bilbo flinched. He'd hoped Smaug would either remain ignorant of Talaitha's presence or wouldn't be interested in it. "I am he who walks unseen. That is all you need to know."

Smaug chuckled, or at least that's what they thought the deep rumble was, for it reverberated throughout the room and rattled the coins. "Hardly. If you are to steal my treasure, I would know your name."

"Our names aren't relevant," said Talaitha, sounding braver than she felt. "Unlike you, we are unknown."

"A female." The dragon's voice was like silk. Talaitha suppressed another shiver. "Your scent _was_ different. But I also smell dwarf on you, though you are not one of the mountain-dwellers."

Her blood ran cold. "Then you smell wrong. You know better than most that dwarves used to reside in these halls. Their scent is sure to linger."

"Not likely," the dragon snapped. "Thief and Elusive Female, you'd do well to stay away from dwarves. They bring misfortune to whomever associates with them."

"You're one to talk," Talaitha mumbled under her breath.

Bilbo gave her a warning look, before he realized she couldn't see it and squeezed her hand tightly instead. She ignored it.

"I suppose you received a fair price for that cup and hair comb you stole last night? And I suppose the dwarves are not hiding outside, leaving you two to do all the dangerous work?" Smaug smiled, though he looked more menacing than amused. "Do not expect any compensation in return. _If_ you leave this room alive, that is."

Then, to Talaitha's horror, the dragon stared right at them, and she quickly pulled Bilbo to a new location.

"Move, if you wish. I can follow your scent anyway," Smaug said conversationally. If he'd had proper shoulders, Talaitha thought he might've shrugged. "Now, tell me how you intended to steal all this treasure."

"That's irrelevant," Bilbo replied quickly. A little too quickly.

"You do not have a plan." Smaug grinned, his white teeth glinting off his bed of gold.

Talaitha cursed silently. They couldn't have been more unprepared to speak to a dragon.

#

The dwarves watched as their leader paced by the entrance of the tunnel, fists clenched and knuckles white. Earlier, they'd heard what sounded like laughter, but with a dragon, one could never be sure. Otherwise, it had been eerily silent down there.

"Someone should try to calm him down," said Kili, staring pointedly at Balin.

Fili smirked. "Go on then, little brother. Calm him down."

"Or _you_ could go," Kili retorted. "You're his heir, after all. He's more likely to listen to you than to me."

"You're probably right," agreed Fili. "He'd probably punch you because you annoyed him."

"Bastard," Kili grumbled. "At least I'd have a chance of cheering him up. You'd probably be as dour as him."

"If you two don't shut up, I'll punch the _both_ of you," growled Dwalin, pushing past the young brothers. "I'll talk to him."

Dwalin waited for Thorin to finish his round, then joined him at the mouth of the cave. "You are worried."

Thorin didn't acknowledge the obvious statement.

"For the halfling?"

Still no reaction.

"Or for the lass?"

Thorin's shoulders slumped, and he sighed. "I allowed her to walk into Hell."

Dwalin looked at Thorin out of the corner of his eye. "You'd have had to tie her up to keep her from going with the hobbit. You know that."

"Then I should have tied her up!" The dwarf king's jaw tensed, as he resisted the urge to hit the side of the mountain. He couldn't afford broken fingers.

"And she would never have forgiven you."

Thorin bowed his head and unclenched his fists. "Perhaps not, but at least she would be safe."

Dwalin didn't know how to reply, so he said nothing. He knew the other dwarf was listening for any sound that indicated Bilbo and Talaitha were in trouble, and he left him to it for a while.

Just as he was about to break the silence, Thorin turned to him with a small smile. "I gave her one of my hair beads."

"I saw," Dwalin nodded. "It becomes her."

Thorin understood the deeper meaning behind those words. His kin had accepted Talaitha, and until she was in his arms again, that would have to suffice.

Back in the treasure chamber, Talaitha glared at Smaug, even though she knew he couldn't see her.

"We aren't here for gold," she said coldly. "It is revenge we seek." Bilbo pinched her arm, silently urging her to be quiet, but she just pinched him back. "Revenge for the genocide you inflicted."

"Revenge!" the dragon snorted. "I like you, Female. I almost regret having to kill you, but that is your fate. Yours, the thief's, and the dwarves'."

As Smaug shifted, Bilbo and Talaitha stumbled back, but Talaitha glimpsed something that brought a grin to her face. On the dragon's underside, on his left breast, was a small area devoid of the armored scales that plated the rest of his body.

"Well, we really must go now!" she said cheerfully, confusing the hobbit. "It was a pleasure talking with you."

And then she yanked Bilbo forward, sprinting as quickly as possible up the slope, but even so, they barely managed to outrun the flames Smaug spat at them. An angry roar and heavy footsteps followed. In their haste to escape, they nearly collided with Dwalin and Thorin, who were halfway down the tunnel.

The dwarf king pulled Talaitha into such a tight embrace that the air left her lungs in a rush. "Thank _Mahal_ you are safe," he breathed into her hair. "Dwalin and I were going in after you."

"We are fine," Talaitha reassured, though she hadn't been sure they would get out unscathed. She relaxed into Thorin's arms and felt her tension slip away.

Although Bilbo and Dwalin could only see the lovers' outline, they nevertheless sensed the magnitude of the reunion. Dwalin awkwardly cleared his throat. "Should we...discuss what to do next, then?"

It was decided, despite Bilbo's and Talaitha's protests, that the dwarves would confront Smaug.

"You felt that fire, didn't you?" Talaitha asked Thorin and Dwalin. "Swords and axes are useless against it. This is suicide!"

"We have no choice, Talaitha," Thorin said grimly. "That weak spot in his armor. Is it near his heart?"

"If dragons are anatomically similar to lizards, then yes, that's where his heart _should_ be," Talaitha answered.

Thorin's only reply was a throaty rumble, but Talaitha knew what he was thinking. She looked at him warily, about to argue against his plan, but Kili's enthusiastic deduction prevented her.

"So we just have to plunge a sword in there and he'll die?"

Balin chuckled. "Don't be daft, lad. You don't want to get that close to a dragon!"

"His claws are as big as I am tall," Bilbo added off-handedly.

Bofur chimed in, cheerful as ever. "He'd rip you apart before you could even draw your blade."

"Not to mention the fire," Nori said.

"But a couple of well-aimed arrows would work," Thorin mused. "That way we'd remain at a safe distance."

Talaitha pulled Thorin aside, her hand on his elbow. "Are you sure you want to face him?"

"I must," he said, voice and expression hard. Then they softened, as he looked down at the szelemér. "You and Bilbo should remain in the tunnel. You have already done more than enough."

"No," she said firmly. "We're part of this Company, too." Talaitha touched the bead in her hair. "If you go, I go."

Thorin saw the challenge in her gaze, daring him to protest. But he didn't. Rejoining his kin, Thorin considered them. They were waiting for him, their leader, with weapons readied. Not one showed fear, and he was proud.

"We will not cower from that dragon," he said fiercely. "If this is to end in fire, then we will all _burn_ together!"


	32. The Golden Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin & Co. face Smaug. 
> 
> When I initially wrote this chapter, I followed the book, as _The Desolation of Smaug_ hadn’t come out yet. But now I’ve rewritten it, mostly following the movie, with a few changes to make Thorin  & Co. look a little less…silly? I didn’t really like the “golden dragon” plan, so I changed their reason for doing it. But I also didn’t like that in the book, they didn’t confront Smaug. So this is the result. I hope it suits!

Because their arrows were depleted, the Company had to make their way to the armory, which meant they would have to traverse half of Erebor to get there. The chances of reaching it without encountering Smaug were slim, but they had little choice.

Thorin led the way into the treasure chamber, stopping when the piles of gold came into view. A peculiar feeling bubbled up in his chest, drawing him towards the riches. He _yearned_ to search for the Arkenstone, but Smaug had seen them and was thundering towards the Company. Between his scales, they could see his belly glow orange.

"You will burn!" Smaug growled and breathed a wave of fire at them.

Thorin grasped Talaitha's waist and pushed her down a hill of gold to the opening of a passageway. In the chaos of the escape, she didn't notice he had allowed the others to go before him, until she heard his yell and saw that his clothes were on fire. She stepped towards him, heart thudding wildly, but Dwalin was quicker to help Thorin shed his burning coat.

"Come on," Thorin urged, leading them deeper into Erebor.

Talaitha stared at him, stunned that he'd taken his near-death experience so lightly, then followed. It was dark and eerily silent, and the air smelled stale. But all that was preferable to the maze of bridges and stairs spanning the interior of the mountain. Once they left the passageway, they would be out in the open and vulnerable, with a long fall below.

Thorin hushed them, craning his neck to look for Smaug, but the dragon was nowhere to be seen. For now, at least.

"We've given him the slip," Dori whispered.

"No," said Dwalin. "He's too cunning for that."

"I agree," Talaitha nodded. "He'll smell us soon enough."

"So where to now?" Bilbo asked.

"The western guard room," Thorin replied. "There may be a way to the armory through there."

Balin shook his head. "It's too high. There's no chance that way."

"It's our only chance now," Thorin retorted sharply. "We have to try."

He took Talaitha's hand and motioned for the Company to move across the narrow bridge. The going was slow and as silent as dwarves in heavy boots could be, but at the halfway mark, an ominous _clink_ echoed through the mountain. Talaitha covered her mouth to keep from gasping. She instinctively looked up, along with the rest of the Company, to see the dragon's great, scaly underside passing over them. They held their breaths, as more coins rained onto the bridge, but Smaug did not notice them.

Thorin's hand tightened around hers, and they continued forward.

Once they were across the walkway, they ran through twisting passages, the walls passing by in a blur of green and gold. They entered a room, where Thorin stopped suddenly, staring horrified at the sight that greeted him.

Dozens of dwarves--men, women, and children--laid dead, desiccated and blanketed by dust and cobwebs. Beyond the corpses, the path was blocked by huge chunks of rock.

"That's it, then. There's no way through," Dwalin said, resigned.

"The last of our kin," Balin lamented. "They must have come here, hoping beyond hope."

Talaitha walked towards the mummified dwarves, tears gathering in her eyes when she saw a babe still in his mother's arms.

"We could try to reach the mines," Balin suggested. "We might last a few days."

"No," said Thorin. "I will not die like this." He gazed down at his fallen people, his voice breaking, "Cowering, clawing for breath."

But when he faced the Company again, his eyes burned with renewed determination.

"We make for the forges."

"He'll see us, sure as death," Dwalin protested.

"Not if we split up."

"Thorin, we'll never make it," Balin said.

"Some of us might." He glanced at Talaitha. " _Lead him_ to the forges. Tonight we fight a dragon."

Divided into groups, they ran once more, no longer concerned with remaining unseen and unheard. And sure enough, as they passed over a bridge, Smaug's voice boomed around them.

"Flee, _flee_. Run for your lives." He crept towards them, a wicked smile upon his reptilian lips. "There is nowhere to hide."

Talaitha gripped Thorin's tunic, blood pounding in her ears. Smaug had seemed far less frightening in the treasure chamber, humoring her and Bilbo. Now he was intent to kill.

"Behind you!" Dori shouted from another walkway.

Smaug whipped his head around, searching and following, allowing Thorin, Balin, Bilbo, and Talaitha to escape. They reached a huge, cavernous room, where Balin stopped at the entrance to yet another corridor, while Thorin kept running.

"It's this way," Balin said.

But Bilbo and Talaitha hesitated.

"Thorin!"

"Follow Balin," he ordered.

"Not without you."

Talaitha reached for him, but Thorin merely gazed at her, the plea evident in his eyes if not in his voice.

"For once, _do as I say_."

He pushed her towards the passageway just in time, as Smaug rounded the corner and unleashed another stream of fire.

Talaitha couldn't see Thorin through the flames, but she was powerless to do anything except proceed forward, her legs moving seemingly without her consent. When they arrived at the forges, some of the others were already there, but Thorin was still missing. Dwalin looked as concerned as she did.

"Where is he?" Talaitha demanded. Before the dwarf could reply, Thorin appeared through the columns, panting and sweating but otherwise unharmed.

Talaitha didn't think, as she rushed to him and threw her arms around his neck.

"You stupid, _thoughtless_ dwarf," she cursed, burying her face into his hair. "If you ever do something like that again, you'll wish Smaug had killed you."

Thorin smiled, despite the gravity of their situation, and indulged himself in a moment to hold Talaitha. When Dwalin cleared his throat, he pulled away but kept an arm around her waist.

"The plan's not going to work. These furnaces are stone cold."

"He's right," said Balin. "We've no fire hot enough to set them ablaze."

"Have we not?"

Standing between the columns that served as the entrance to the forges, Thorin leaned forward to shout through the gap. "I did not look to see you so easily outwitted."

Smaug climbed up from the mines, an amused glint in his orange eyes.

"You have grown slow and fat in your dotage." Thorin paused, his lips curling into a sneer. " _Slug_."

Whatever humor the dragon might have felt was now replaced with fury at the insult. He lumbered towards them, readying his fire.

"Take cover," Thorin warned and pulled Talaitha against him. If she didn't know any better, she'd have sworn there had been the ghost of a self-satisfied smirk upon his lips.

She clutched Thorin's tunic, as the flames surged past them. Though her body was shielded by Thorin's, the heat was almost unbearable. It only lasted for a few seconds but had felt like an eternity.

Then the furnaces roared to life, fire and black smoke billowing violently out the sides.

"Bombur, get those bellows working," Thorin ordered, casting a wary glance at Smaug, who was trying to break through an iron grate to reach them. "Bilbo, up there. On my mark, pull the lever."

The hobbit nodded and dashed up the stairs, moving more quickly than Talaitha had ever seen. She didn't know what Thorin was planning, but she was glad Bilbo would be away from the mayhem that would soon ensue.

Smaug slammed his bulk against the grate, the metal bending and groaning from the stress. He was nearly through.

"Balin, can you still make some flash flame?"

"Aye," the old dwarf replied. "It'll only take a jiffy."

"I can help," Talaitha said, joined by Dori and Ori.

Thorin watched her climb the stairs to the small room overlooking the forges, breathing a sigh of relief. She would be safe up there, as long as Smaug didn't cause the supports to crumble. But he had no more time to worry about the szelemér, for the dragon had broken through the grate and was advancing upon him. He took his position, and on his mark, Bilbo pulled the lever.

Great torrents of water gushed from the mouths of stone dwarves, dousing Smaug's fire and blanketing the area in steam. The water also powered up massive mining buckets, some empty but others still full of raw gold, which now moved steadily high above their heads.

When the flash flame was finished, Dori and Talaitha threw containers of it at the dragon, but they exploded harmlessly around him in bright blue flashes. He continued to bear down upon Thorin, who stood unflinchingly in his path. Talaitha shouted at him to move, but her voice was inaudible over the _whoosh_ of the bellows and the rush of the water.

There was another sound, too. A crash, as iron mining buckets full of gold chunks fell onto Smaug. They incapacitated him long enough for Thorin to pull a chain that drained the molten gold from the furnaces into the channels running along the floor. He told the Company to lead the dragon to the Gallery of the Kings, and then Talaitha lost sight of him.

She followed Balin down seemingly interminable stairwells, until they emerged into a large, sunken hall, flanked on either side by steps and a platform. Thorin had arrived before them, and he stood on a massive stone structure that was hugged by iron bands, with wooden scaffolds and chains attached to it.

And on the other side of the hall was Smaug.

"Here, you witless worm!" Thorin shouted. "I am taking back what you stole."

The dragon turned around, graceful despite his size, and stalked towards Thorin, glaring. "You will take nothing from _me_ , Dwarf. I laid low your warriors of old. I instilled terror in the hearts of men. _I_ am King under the Mountain."

"This is not your kingdom," Thorin snarled. "These are dwarf lands. This is dwarf gold. And we _will_ have our revenge."

At Thorin's order, the dwarves pulled the chains, breaking the iron bands around the stone structure and revealing a giant, golden dwarf king. Smaug stared at it, transfixed, and Talaitha took advantage of his distraction to run to Bilbo, who was watching from the wings.

"He's going to Lake Town," the hobbit told her anxiously. "If he gets there, everyone will die."

Before she could reply, molten gold exploded from the statue, liquefying it and flooding the depressed chamber. Smaug tried to back away but fell and was quickly submerged in the sea of gold.

From the chain onto which he clung, Thorin grinned triumphantly, certain that they had succeeded in killing Smaug.

But a dragon was not so easily slain as that. He erupted from the sea of gold, angrier than ever.

"I will show you revenge!" he yelled.

Smaug burst through the wall, galloped awkwardly for a few paces, then took flight, spiraling high into the air, trailing gold. Talaitha met Thorin's gaze, her heart sinking.

What had they done?


	33. Quarrels in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gold sickness. _Uh-oh_.

When the shock of their failure had faded, there was bickering amongst the Company. Some believed they should aid Lake Town, while others wanted to stay in Erebor and wait it out.

"We've no way to _get_ to Lake Town," Glóin said.

"Aye," Dwalin agreed. "They took the boats with them."

"And even if they hadn't, we wouldn't reach them in time," Nori reasoned.

Bilbo stared at the dwarves in disbelief. Only an hour ago, they had willingly confronted the dragon.

"Well, we have to do _some_ thing," he urged, addressing Thorin. "It's our fault Smaug is going there. We woke him, and now he's going to set fire to the town."

The dwarf king considered the hobbit's words with a thoughtful expression.

"The men of Esgaroth could defeat him," he said. "They have a dwarvish windlance. They may have a black arrow, too."

Talaitha raised her eyebrows in surprise at the suggestion.

"Unlike you, the people of Lake Town didn't experience the first attack. They may not know how to defeat Smaug."

"We must hope that they do," Thorin said dismissively.

"And if they don't?" Talaitha pressed, not liking his cavalier attitude towards Esgaroth's residents. "The dragon could obliterate them, like he did your kin and the people of Dale."

"Bard is Girion's descendent. If anyone there knows how to kill that beast, he does."

"This was _your_ quest," she reminded him. "Those people wanted no part of it, yet they now bear the terrible brunt of it."

Thorin turned on her so suddenly that she recoiled, startled.

"My quest is to reclaim Erebor for _my_ people. What happens to others in the process is not my concern," he said coldly.

Bilbo and the dwarves chose that moment to quietly disperse. This argument was not their business, and they felt uncomfortable witnessing it.

"I'm beginning to think your desire is not to restore Erebor, but to reacquire its gold," she accused.

"That gold belongs to the _dwarves_ ," he hissed. "But if you care more for those humans, join them and rid us of your bleeding heart."

She stifled a gasp at his callous words and blinked away tears, unwilling to give him the satisfaction to know he'd hurt her. Talaitha considered punching him but suspected that would cause her more pain than it would him.

She leaned in close, until they were nearly nose-to-nose, and whispered venomously, "Better a bleeding heart than a frozen one."

She shoved his shoulders and walked through the gaping hole Smaug had created, leaving the dwarf king speechless and with a sick, sinking feeling in his stomach.

What had he done?

#

Sometime during the night, Talaitha had curled up in a darkened, isolated corner of the wing, wrapped in her cloak, struggling to remain awake. She'd helped the dwarves clear away some of the rubble, but in her distraction over her and Thorin's fight, she'd walked into one of the chains hanging from the remnants of the golden statue's stone covering. Her forehead had smarted then, but within the hour, her head had begun to throb with a vengeance. It was her fear of a concussion that kept her awake, but as she listened to the dwarves' voices gradually fade into snores, her eyelids grew heavy. The last thing she heard before she fell asleep was Thorin and Dwalin's hushed conversation.

Little did Talaitha know, Thorin had remained awake the entire night, berating himself for how he'd treated her. When she'd stormed outside after their argument, he'd immediately regretted his harsh words and longed to follow, but he knew she would not welcome his company. So he sat against the wall, glaring into the gloom as the fire dwindled, until Dwalin joined him. They discussed their strategy should Smaug return, but mercifully, the other dwarf made no mention of the night's disagreement. No one did. In fact, excepting Dwalin, they had all remained clear of Thorin. That concerned him, of course, but he had to make things right with Talaitha first.

And that was how he found himself searching her out, cursing when he tripped over stray rocks in the dim chamber. The steel toe of his boots crunched over stones, and he winced as the noise echoed throughout the room. He heard someone shift to his left and groan in pain.

"Talaitha?" He sounded hesitant, as if fearing she would lash out at him.

"Thorin. Only you would be that loud," she greeted glumly. "What do you want?"

Sleep had been a mistake, for now her head felt like it was splitting open. She massaged her temples, while her eyes adjusted to the dark. As she watched Thorin slowly approach in her direction, she was tempted to kick him, or at least to extend her leg and trip him.

 _You're an adult_ , she reminded herself and reluctantly quelled the childish urge.

"Where are you?" he asked, a hand against the pillar.

"Oh, for Valar's sake," she sighed, standing.

Her vision blurred for a second, but she found Thorin's hand and led him back to where she'd been sitting.

"Thank you."

He situated himself beside her, stretching out his legs. She was near enough that he could feel her warmth and smell the lilac oil in her hair. Thorin yearned to reach out and touch her but knew she'd probably slap him--or worse--if he did.

After a period of silence, Talaitha sighed again.

"You do realize that the point of my moving _here_ was to get away from you."

Thorin looked down at his hands in his lap, though he couldn't actually see much of them.

"Yes."

"But you came anyway," she said, in a dull, plain voice.

"Yes."

He heard scraping, which was followed by the patter of a small stone striking the floor. He knew her vision was better than his in the dark, but he hadn't realized she could pinpoint specific objects well enough to aim for them, too. A very elvish trait, he thought, then checked himself. A very _szelemér_ trait.

"I presume you didn't come simply to sit in silence next to me." She sounded impatient and so unlike the kind Talaitha he had come to know. But, he supposed, even _her_ benevolence had its limit. He'd simply been the one stupid enough to reach it.

"No," he replied softly. "I came to apologize. My behavior was atrocious."

"Yes," she said simply. "It was."

"You must understand that I could never mean the things I said."

" _Some_ of the things you said," she corrected, her tone suddenly acerbic. "I believe you spoke sincerely about the gold and of Lake Town's fate."

A familiar sick feeling crept into his stomach. He remembered his grandfather, how he had gradually become obsessed with treasure, hoarding it like a dragon himself, and how he would have followed Smaug to rescue the Arkenstone. Thorin knew he, too, was predisposed to the same affliction that had befallen Thrór, yet he was powerless to stop it.

But maybe _she_ wasn't.

"You are mistaken. I do not wish harm upon Lake Town," he said. "But I cannot deny I desire the treasure. It belongs to the dwarves, not to that overgrown worm."

"Yes, you were always honest about that," she agreed. "But something's changed, hasn't it."

Thorin was silent for many minutes, gathering his courage and wits. He could charge a battalion of orcs with less fear than he could admit a fault. And this was a terrible, destructive fault, one that carried the potential to ruin him and what he and Talaitha shared.

"It is the gold sickness," he said finally. His voice was strained as he spoke. "The line of Durin is especially susceptible to it, but the discovery of the Arkenstone worsened it. I watched my grandfather acquire _such_ wealth, yet he always craved more. I watched him slowly descend into madness to the point that he valued the jewel more than his or his kin's lives."

Her anger towards Thorin began to thaw, but still she would not grant him a reprieve.

"You risk your nephews' lives for the Arkenstone."

If there had been more light, Talaitha would have seen Thorin's eyes flash dangerously.

"They come willingly," he said, struggling to remain calm. "And they fight for Erebor, as I do."

"For Erebor and for the Arkenstone."

"Why will you not let me mend this?" he growled. "Why are you intent on continuing our quarrel?"

"Because I'm afraid!" she cried, almost desperately. "I'm afraid of who--of _what_ \--you are becoming."

Thorin leaned against the wall heavily, his breath leaving his lungs in a violent rush. He'd certainly experienced his fair share of self-loathing in his near-two centuries, but it was never so pronounced as it was at that moment. The thought that he had frightened her was like a punch to the gut, depriving him of air.

"You are right to be." His voice was hoarse with emotion, his fists clenched too tightly. "I don't know if I can conquer it. How can I when my grandfather could not?"

Talaitha softened, realizing that he was just as afraid as she was.

"I did not know Thrór," she said, smoothing her hands over his clenched fists. They started to relax, allowing her to sneak her fingers between his. "But I know _you_ , Thorin Oakenshield. I know you have already overcome more than most could."

He smiled bitterly. "Yet you fear what I am becoming."

"I would be a fool not to," she said. "But I have to believe you will fight it."

When he didn't respond, she moved closer to him and rested her head against his chest, tugging his arm firmly so he'd wrap it around her waist.

"You are mine, you infuriating dwarf. And by Valar, you will _fight_ it."

Thorin couldn't help but smile at her insistence. She was indeed his equal in many ways, but in others, she was his better.

"I will fight it," he murmured into her hair, tightening his arm around her.

And before he knew it, her warmth and comforting presence had lulled him to sleep.


	34. Through the Dim and Winding Interior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Thorin and Talaitha have made up. There's lots of excitement in the treasury...

The next day, Smaug still hadn't returned, so the Company made their way down to the treasure chamber. Talaitha led with Thorin, who felt a combination of excitement and dread. He knew how he would react to the gold, to the Arkenstone, and it frightened him. His grandfather had gone mad, but it wasn't just Thorin's sanity that was at stake. It was his relationship with Talaitha, too. The fear of losing her like that, in such an ugly manner, gnawed at his stomach, and not even Talaitha's touch could soothe him.

It was dark now that Smaug had left, so Glóin built a fire from stray pieces of wood the Company had collected along the way. Although they only illuminated about a quarter of the chamber, the cheerful, flickering flames were a comfort and a boon after the gloom of the past couple days.

In the new light, the dwarves got a better glimpse of the mounds of treasure Smaug had stolen, and they stood transfixed. The fire reflected off the gold, further bathing the room in a warm brightness. Jewels glittered temptingly in a spectrum of colors, rivaling even the rainbow in their beauty. Talaitha allowed herself to admire a few pieces, including the amethyst crown, before she was distracted by an excited shout. Dori had found an engraved, silver platter that he was now showing Nori, who rolled his eyes and moved to a neighboring pile.

One particular gem caught Bilbo's eye. It was just a pale, white glint atop one of the mounds, but it awoke a strange sensation in his heart. While Thorin's back was turned, he climbed up to the top, using gold scepters and plates of armor as hand and footholds. He slid down every now and then, but fortunately, the dwarves were so entranced by the treasure that they didn't notice Bilbo's scrambling, and he eventually reached the peak. As he picked up the brilliant jewel, he knew precisely what it was--the Arkenstone, the Heart of the Mountain. It seemed to contain every shade of every color, like an opal but far superior, yet it also gleamed an ethereal white, shining with its own, inner light. He suddenly understood how a person could go mad from its beauty, for even he felt a twinge of avarice, as he tucked the Arkenstone into a deep trouser pocket. Once Smaug had been dealt with, he would return it to Thorin. He knew it was safer that way, though he didn't know why.

Feeling restless, Talaitha investigated the large doors at the other side of the room, curious where they led. Through a crack between them, a draft of clean, fresh air flowed in, and she delighted in it, anxious to be rid of the pungent smell of dragon that pervaded most of the mountain. When she peered through the crack, she saw wide passages and the beginnings of green marble stairs ascending into the dark.

Without warning, a small, black shape swooped at her head. She screamed in shock and ducked. Bifur, who was nearest her, appeared with his boar spear, shouting in Khuzdul, followed closely by Thorin, with Orcrist held at the ready. When no threat appeared, Thorin turned a curious and slightly annoyed gaze onto Talaitha.

"Sorry. It was just a bat," she said, blushing.

Bifur mumbled something in Khuzdul, to which Thorin raised a brow and replied, "I think we'd have known if Smaug had returned."

It was only now, when Talaitha's hair had shifted, that Thorin saw the injury to her head. Talaitha winced as Thorin touched it carefully.

"Did the bat attack you?"

"No, I accidentally walked into something while clearing away rubble yesterday," she said, swatting away Thorin's hand. "It's nothing."

"It is _not_ nothing," he replied, cupping her cheek.

Something flashed in his eyes, but it disappeared before she could identify it with any certainty. From her brief glance, though, she thought it might've been fury.

Thorin led her to an ornately carved wooden chair, instructing her to sit, while he tore a clean portion of his undershirt and poured some water from his water skin onto it. Wordlessly, he wiped away the dirt and dried blood and cleaned the cut, his lips twitching when he saw her cross and uncross her arms. She was so accustomed to caring for others that being on the receiving end must have been foreign indeed. Once the wound was cleaned, it was evident it wasn't deep, but Thorin had preferred to err on the side of caution.

"Why did you not tend to it?" he asked.

"I forgot to," she replied, shrugging. "I must have had a concussion." His brow furrowed in concern, but she shook her head. "I'm fine now."

Thorin pursed his lips, then nodded, seemingly satisfied that she'd been honest with him. "Very well," he said, gently kissing her forehead above the cut. "But you will tell me if you feel dizzy or unwell."

Talaitha grinned. "Yes, healer."

Ori sat down in the chair beside hers, his thick, leather-bound journal open on his lap. She smiled fondly at him, for he was the only dwarf not interested in the treasure. He returned her smile, then began writing in his journal, no doubt describing their encounter with Smaug and the discovery of their gold.

"Thorin hasn't found the Arkenstone yet," Ori remarked conversationally. "It's too bad, for I should have liked to paint it."

Talaitha ignored Ori's comment, trying to keep the bitterness at bay. She was glad the accursed gem remained hidden.

"What do you intend to do with that journal after the quest?"

"I've always wanted to author a book about a monumental event in our history," he said excitedly. "That's one of the reasons why I insisted Dori let me come along. I knew this quest would be one of those events."

Talaitha grinned. "You must send me a copy when it is finished."

Ori's brows furrowed. "So you will be returning to Nemere after?"

"It's my home," she replied, shifting in the chair. She hadn't really answered his question, and she knew it.

He looked as though he wanted to ask more, but he smiled and touched her hand instead. "Then of course I will send you a copy."

Talaitha returned the gesture, grateful to him for not pressing the matter. They sat in companionable silence, with Ori continuing his account and Talaitha watching the dwarves, until discordant musical notes resounded in the chamber. She cringed, and the Company's attention shifted to Fili and Kili.

The brothers had found two golden harps that had somehow escaped being crushed by Smaug but that were also ear-splittingly out of tune. "Sorry!" they said sheepishly and set about tuning the harps, eliciting more cringes and winces and glares. Finally, though, they were satisfied enough to pluck up a merry dwarvish melody.

The song was unfamiliar to Talaitha, but it nevertheless lifted her spirits, which had been sinking ever lower the longer she watched Thorin search for the Arkenstone. The dwarves picked up the tune, singing heartily and cheerfully as they inspected the treasure. Even Dwalin joined in, albeit reluctantly. Thorin, however, remained intent on his goal.

The dwarves took armor and weapons from the piles to replace the gear they'd lost in Mirkwood. Thorin donned a rich, burgundy tunic over a chainmail shirt, but he carried two mail shirts of far superior quality that would fit a hobbit and a szelemér.

"Bilbo, you have been a true friend and a valuable member of this Company," he said, handing him the armor. "Here is the first installment of your payment."

Beside the hobbit, Bofur's eyes widened in awe. "Is that what I think it is?"

Bilbo didn't know what it was, so he raised his eyebrows in question.

"Mithril," Bofur breathed.

Thorin nodded. "May it serve you well, Master Baggins."

The hobbit touched his pocket, feeling the slight protuberance of the Arkenstone, and was overcome with guilt. He was about to confess and give the gem to Thorin, when a niggling voice in the fore of his mind warned him not to. So instead he thanked him and moved off to a gold pile, pretending to examine the runes on a sword blade.

Talaitha heard familiar footsteps and looked up to see Thorin walking towards her with a small chainmail shirt. It shimmered in the light and rippled so supplely that one could almost believe it were made of the softest silk and not of metal. Unlike Bilbo, Talaitha recognized it for what it was, and her mouth dropped open.

"To go with your mithril blade," said Thorin, handing her the mail shirt. It was impossibly light and smooth.

"It's beautiful, Thorin," she said. "But I cannot accept such a precious gift."

"It will not fit anyone else," he replied awkwardly, glancing at Ori. The younger dwarf understood that Thorin wished for privacy and joined his brothers, smiling encouragingly at Talaitha over his shoulder.

"Thorin, I-"

"You know the strength of mithril," he said, sitting in the chair Ori had vacated. "I fear we have one battle yet to fight, and I might not always be able to protect you during it." He took her hands in his, gazing into her eyes. "Please wear it, if only to ease my mind."

Talaitha sighed but nodded, unable to refuse such sincerity. His concern for her safety had begun as a responsibility, but over the months, it had evolved into a need, insuppressible and borne out of affection.

"This doesn't look like it was made for dwarves," she said, examining the mail shirt. "It's too small for adults yet too large for dwarflings."

"You're correct," he replied, smiling. "According to legend, it and its twin were made for young elf princes thousands of years ago."

Talaitha laughed. "I'm surprised you kept them, considering your hatred of their ilk."

"Elves have their uses," Thorin said gruffly, prompting even more giggles from Talaitha.

"I'll go and put this on, then," she said, standing. When Thorin hesitated, rising halfway from his chair, she arched a brow at him. "Are you coming?"

He needed no further encouragement and followed her to a secluded corner of the chamber that was hidden by a large mound of treasure. Talaitha glanced behind her and saw Thorin eyeing the gold, searching, but when she cleared her throat, his attention snapped back to her. In particular, to the way her hips swayed as she walked. From the smirk she flashed him over her shoulder, he knew she'd deliberately exaggerated the motion of her hips. Well, it had been effective.

Talaitha reached to unbuckle her leather corset, but Thorin's hands were quicker. As he worked, he held her gaze, his pale blue eyes growing ever darker. When the buckle crossing her shoulder was undone, he slowly slid the corset over her hips and let it fall to the floor. As he pulled her flush against him, desire stabbed through her. One of his hands tangled in her hair, pulling just enough to tilt her head back to reveal her neck to him. All thoughts of gold sickness fled her mind.

Thorin wasted no time in placing soft kisses against her skin, causing her to giggle at the tickle of his beard. The kisses became firmer, wetter, and sharper, as tongue and teeth joined in. She moaned softly, clutching at his shoulders lest her legs give way beneath her.

"Thorin," she murmured. "I feel dizzy."

His mouth immediately left her neck, and his arms encircled her back to support her. "Is it your head?" he asked, concern replacing the lust in his eyes.

She nodded. "But it was a good dizzy."

"Then why did you stop me?" he scowled.

Talaitha raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "Because your kin are meters away, and Smaug could return at any moment."

Thorin's scowl deepened, but he didn't contest her reasoning. He picked up the mithril shirt and slipped it over her head, watching as she re-donned her leather corset and buckled it, more loosely than before. He had to admit he enjoyed seeing her in the armor, especially since the corset still hugged her figure.

Once the Company was armed and armored, Thorin led them from the room and along the passages, which were narrower than the ones Talaitha had seen thus far. Thorin, Nori, Óin, and Bofur carried torches, whose flames sputtered occasionally but provided sufficient light to guide their way. They also gave Talaitha the opportunity to examine her surroundings, for the incessant chase yesterday hadn't allowed for much sight-seeing.

They climbed tall stairs and trudged down echoing corridors, turned, and climbed another staircase. The stairs were smooth, broad, and cut out of the mountain. The walls were green marble, veined with sparkling gold and silver streaks that caught the torchlight. The ceiling was impossibly high and crisscrossed with massive arches of the same marble. Even in the gloom and eerie silence, the Company could easily imagine Erebor's former splendor.

"It is breath-taking," said Talaitha. Bilbo and the dwarves who were new to Erebor were equally awestruck.

Thorin smiled down at her, but his eyes held a pain that made Talaitha's heart ache for him.

"You are nearly there, Thorin. Erebor will be restored because of _you_."

He bent down and kissed the top of her head. "Thank you for continually lifting my spirits."

They continued on through seemingly endless corridors, ascending and descending stairs, until Talaitha was sure Thorin had lost his way. She glanced behind at the dwarves, most of whom looked as confused as she did. But not Balin. He nodded reassuringly at her.

As they turned a corner, a white glimmer shone through an opening high above, and the air smelled sweeter. And there before them laid the once-grand entrance to Erebor, now a ruin of crumbled marble and warped, metal hinges. When Smaug had entered the mountain, he'd crushed and sealed the doors, but now the rubble was cleared, and light flooded the room. Talaitha realized that the dragon must have moved aside the stones when he'd exited through the front entrance.

Littered along the floor were skeletons of the dwarves who had fallen victim to Smaug. Some bones were burnt, but others, including skulls, were fractured in ways that made her feel nauseated. Talaitha knew the breaks had resulted from being swatted by the dragon's tail or crushed beneath his feet. She felt the fury radiating from Thorin and shared some of it.

Bilbo shifted uncomfortably, trying not to step on the smaller bones. "Can we, uh, go outside now?"

It looked as though Thorin would snap at the hobbit, but then he bowed his head and said raggedly, "Perhaps that would be best." He didn't move immediately, though, not until Talaitha touched his elbow.

When they emerged into the pale, near-winter sunlight, they were confronted with Dale. What had once been a proud, prosperous city now laid in ruins of soot-covered stone and burnt wood. Some of the taller buildings, like the guard towers, had been bowled over by Smaug, but others stood nearly intact, as though they'd merely been abandoned. The past couple days had been nothing but disheartening, and even the dwarves' enthusiasm for the gold did not last. Not after seeing their kin's mutilated skeletons.

Once the silence became oppressive, Kili asked, "What next?"

Bilbo's stomach growled loudly. "Food, hopefully." It seemed that with the threat of imminent danger abated, his hunger felt compelled to make its presence known.

"Aye!" Glóin agreed heartily. "But preferably away from Smaug's doorstep, should he return."

"We could make camp at the old watch post to the southwest," suggested Balin. "It is only a couple hours' walk, though the route is not an easy one."

The hobbit's shoulders slumped, and he sighed. "What _has_ been easy on this quest?"

"Nothing. But if it were easy, anyone could do it," Bofur replied, with a wink and a grin.

"The look-out post is our safest option," Thorin agreed. "Come, Bilbo. The sooner we reach it, the sooner we may eat."

Talaitha shared Bilbo's displeasure, for she, too, was hungry and tired. But she squared her shoulders and set off beside Thorin. They followed a vague, stone path on the left side of the River Running, crossing an empty, lifeless landscape. Their moods turned gloomy once more, especially when they saw that the bridge across the river had crumbled into the water, leaving them no choice but to hop across the boulders. Bombur lost his balance but managed to steady himself before he toppled into the river. Even if he had fallen in, though, the current was gentle enough for him to swim out. The real danger was the cold.

They climbed ancient steps, which brought them back onto the stone road, leading west and steeply up a hill to a flat, cave-like enclosure against a rocky wall. From the look-out post, they could see far to the east, south, and west, and from the south, they saw smoke rising.

Lake Town was burning.

Bilbo braced himself against the wall, agape, but Talaitha watched Thorin, hoping for some sort of emotion that showed he hadn't yet been overcome by the gold sickness. When she saw the remorse in his eyes, she breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He had spoken truthfully about not wishing harm upon Esgaroth. Had the gold sickness run its course already? Or was the worst still to come?

They said nothing about Lake Town, for nothing needed to be said. They knew Smaug had attacked it, and they knew there were casualties, but it would serve no purpose to dwell on the city's misfortune. They would soon have enough of their own.

"In the old days, we kept watchmen here," said Balin, sitting against the wall. "But as Erebor grew in wealth and allies, the post was abandoned." He paused, as the others gathered around him, glad for the distraction. "Perhaps if it hadn't been, we would have had warning of Smaug's coming. Perhaps things might have been different."

"Aye," murmured Thorin, glancing at his nephews, then at Talaitha. "Perhaps they would have."

The somber mood was broken when a cast-iron frying pan clattered to the floor. Bombur smiled sheepishly and continued unpacking the food and cooking supplies, while Bofur made a modest fire from the branches and dried leaves that littered the area around the watch post. Breakfast consisted of fried smoked sausages, dried fruit, and water-softened cram, the latter of which was apparently a staple of Lake Town, because they had donated plenty of it.

As they ate, they kept a wary eye on the sky but saw no sign of Smaug. They did, however, see flocks and flocks of birds, and that reassured them, though they weren't entirely sure why.


	35. Alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Company meets someone unexpected and learns of Lake Town's fate.
> 
> Obviously since the third movie (whatever its name is now) isn't released yet, from here on out, I used the book as inspiration.

Had the Company ventured from the mountain sooner, they would have known that Smaug had been slain by the men of Esgaroth. Or rather, by one man. They would have seen the dragon-fire rain down upon the thatched roofs and wooden buildings, burning through the structures until they collapsed. They would have seen the clouds of arrows sail through the air and clatter harmlessly against Smaug's shining, red scales. They would have seen him swoop low, smashing his tail against the rooftops and plucking up the occasional townsperson. They may have heard the terrified screams, the relentless shouts to keep shooting at the dragon. They would have heard the roars and thunderous wing beats, as Smaug toyed with his prey. And then, amazingly, they would have heard the ear-splitting shriek when one arrow found the weak spot in the beast's armor. They would have seen the panicked flailing and subsequent plunge, heard the earth-shaking _crash,_ as Smaug fell on Lake Town, demolishing streets of houses.

But they would have neither seen nor heard the resulting tidal wave that threatened to drown half the town, or the chaotic escape attempts. They wouldn't have known that at least a quarter of the people died that night, or that Bard, whose warning Thorin had ignored, was proclaimed a hero. For it was he who had led the archers against the dragon and had felled the terrible beast.

But the elves of Mirkwood knew, and Thranduil had set off to aid the residents in their temporary relocation north to Dale. He'd sent his son ahead with a small group of elves to scout the area for potential enemies and for Thorin's Company. Bard believed that they had been killed by the dragon, for why else would Smaug have abandoned them for Lake Town? When Thranduil had learned of this, he felt an inexplicable sorrow. He had not wanted their deaths, no matter how much he disliked dwarves. And he certainly had not wanted Talaitha's death.

Legolas bore the news particularly hard, though his expression remained stoic, as was wont of his race. Talaitha was the first friend he had lost to death, for she had been his first and only non-elf friend. That was why he had volunteered to lead the scouting party, in the hopes of finding the Company alive. His father knew this and allowed it. Thorin would have been surprised to witness such an act of compassion from someone he believed incapable of it.

#

"Maybe we should go down there," Nori suggested. "To see what's happened."

Dori smacked his arm. "Isn't it obvious what's happened?"

"I don't want to see their burnt bodies," Ori said quietly, with a shudder. He was remembering the charred bones of their kin in Erebor.

"Me neither," Kili said, brown eyes fixed on the black smoke rising from the south.

Nori didn't press the matter, for he, too, had thought back to the skeletons. They all had. Talaitha, who had treated several severe burn victims in the past, was especially grim, as the face of Bard and his infant son flashed in her mind.

A somber silence descended upon the lookout post, broken only by the chirps of birds. They sat like that for hours, unsure about what to do next. Thorin reckoned that if the dragon was truly dead, he could begin rebuilding Erebor. But the more likely scenario--in his opinion, at least--was that the dragon had _not_ been defeated and was due to return at any moment. If his Company were caught in the open, they would stand no chance. So they'd wait until they were certain about Smaug's fate.

He looked at Talaitha beside him and noticed her contemplative expression. She was idly twirling a copper curl around her finger, when suddenly, she grinned. He arched a brow at her, but she ignored him and addressed Óin instead.

"What was it you said about birds returning to the mountain?"

The partly-deaf dwarf tilted his head and beckoned her closer. She repeated her question, more loudly.

"Ah, the birds," smiled Óin. "The birds shall return to the mountain either when Smaug slumbers or when he is dead."

"The birds are here," said Bofur, grinning.

Bilbo stood at the entrance and peered up at the sky. "And Smaug is definitely not slumbering now."

"So that must mean he's dead!" Kili said excitedly. "Talaitha, you're brilliant. I'd kiss you if I knew Uncle wouldn't cut out my tongue."

Thorin glared at his nephew, but even he could not suppress his joy--cautious, though it was--at the increasingly real possibility that the humans had managed to kill Smaug. In his happiness, he allowed himself to take Talaitha's hand and kiss her knuckles, not caring that his kin had seen the affectionate gesture. If Smaug was well and truly dead, his dwarves would be seeing more such gestures. Or so he hoped.

"So can we leave this place now?" Dori asked. "We could start fixing up Erebor."

Before Thorin could reply, a blond head appeared inside the shelter. Talaitha released Thorin's hand and ran towards the tall figure.

"Legolas!" she exclaimed, glad to see him. "What are you doing here?"

The elf prince smiled fondly and crouched to her height. "Searching for you, actually," he said, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I am overjoyed to find you alive." He looked at Bilbo and the dwarves, his gaze meeting Thorin's suspicious one. "All of you."

"Your king finally decided to send us aid?" Thorin questioned gruffly and with no small amount of scorn.

The elf's cerulean eyes sparkled with mirth. "Not you," he replied. "The people of Esgaroth, for they accomplished what you could not."

Thorin's expression grew thunderous, and he'd have advanced upon Legolas had Balin not placed a premonitory hand on his elbow. Only the elf had seen the subtle motion, but he didn't comment on it. He had taunted the dwarf king enough for one day.

"How are they?" Talaitha asked anxiously.

"Most survived," Legolas replied. "But the casualties are nevertheless high for such a small population. Many women and children died when their houses burned and collapsed."

Her stomach clenched in fear. "And Bard?"

"Bard and his sons are well," he said, smiling and walking inside the lookout post. "It was he who slew the dragon. They call him Bard the Bowman now, and he has replaced the disagreeable Master as his people's leader."

The dwarves seemed pleased with the latter news, but Thorin was more interested in Bard's accomplishment. "Smaug is really dead?"

Legolas nodded. "The body remains in Esgaroth, if you wish to see it."

"You said you were helping the inhabitants of Lake Town," said Talaitha, glancing at the smoke in the distance. "Helping them with what?"

Thorin crossed his arms and waited for the elf's answer, though he already knew what it would be. From Balin's wary look in his direction, the old dwarf did, too.

"To move up to Dale."

Thorin noticed that everyone's, including the elf's, gaze turned to him, but if they expected an angry reaction, they were disappointed. He merely arched a brow and said dryly, "Well, I suppose with the threat gone, Thranduil is generous."

Legolas lifted his own brow in response, then beckoned his elves to him, instructing a few of them to return to his father with news of the Company's survival and the rest to join their kin in relocating Lake Town's inhabitants.

He turned back to Thorin.

"Now I wish to hear _your_ tale."


	36. Bones, Burglars, and Braids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin's gold sickness hits full-force, but he's not completely lost...yet.
> 
> For a picture of the "braids" in this chapter, check out "Soul Healing Images."

Legolas remained with the Company for a while, exchanging stories with Bilbo, Talaitha, and some of the more amiable dwarves. Thorin occasionally commented, but for the most part, he was silent and pensive. Now that Smaug was well and truly dead, the dwarves had the daunting task of making the mountain habitable again. He considered, rather ironically, that the journey to Erebor might have been the simpler part.

Several loud _caws_ attracted Thorin's attention. Flocks of crows were wheeling above, as if circling an animal carcass. There were other birds, too, but none were as plentiful or as agitated as the crows.

"Something strange is happening," said Thorin. The others followed his gaze. "The carrion birds are behaving as if a battle were afoot."

The black birds were not an auspicious omen, Thorin knew, and Óin's grim expression confirmed that thought.

As he scanned the skies, alarmed, Bilbo spotted the same thrush that had been cracking snails' shells outside the secret door. It flew towards them and alighted upon a nearby stone, fluttering its wings and singing animatedly. When no one moved, it tilted its head to one side, as if listening, then chirped more insistently.

"I think it's trying to tell us something," Balin said. "Can anyone make out what?" He looked pointedly at Legolas, who had approached the thrush. It now perched on the elf's finger, singing to him.

The Company watched Legolas with a mixture of curiosity and expectation. If elves understood trees, then surely they understood birds, too. But their hopes were in vain, for he did not.

"Well, whatever it is, he's rather excited about it," Bilbo said, just as the thrush gave a shrill call and flew away.

Thorin stood and strode from the shelter. "We may not understand _him_ , but he understands us. Follow him!"

The bird led them to the other side of the hill. From there, they could see the first of the refugees from Lake Town, with Bard at the head, accompanied by some of the elves from Mirkwood. Even from this distance, the humans looked ragged, sooty, and weary.

Legolas stepped back and turned to Thorin. "It is my understanding that you offered payment to Esgaroth in exchange for supplies."

The dwarf king's expression darkened. "That agreement was made with the old Master, and since you have informed us that he is no longer in command, the deal no longer stands."

Talaitha shifted from one foot to the other, disquieted by the possessive gleam in Thorin's eyes. Legolas saw it, too.

"Take care, Dwarf," he warned. "One among them felled the dragon. Do not deny him his people's share."

Thorin glowered up at Legolas, undaunted by the prince's height. "You have fulfilled your task, Elf," he spoke lowly. "You have told us Esgaroth's tale and have heard ours. Return to your kin now."

Legolas met the dwarf's cold gaze, but his held no malice. "Remember Thrór," he said solemnly. Then, with a final, meaningful glance at Talaitha, he descended the hill to meet the other elves.

Bilbo watched the prince leave, an unease growing in his heart. "What did he mean?"

"That is none of your concern," Thorin snapped. He stomped out the fire more forcefully than was necessary and started towards the mountain, impatiently calling back to the others. "Well, what are you waiting for?"

They exchanged wary glances and followed hesitantly, giving their ill-tempered leader a wide berth. Talaitha looked at Balin, who nodded at her, and she jogged to catch up with Thorin. For a while, she just walked silently beside him, hoping he'd calm down on his own, as he often did. But when he still radiated anger an hour later, she felt she had little choice but to attempt to coax him from his foul mood. Otherwise, the rest of the day would be unpleasant for everyone.

"Thorin," Talaitha said gently. "Smaug is dead now. You can pause to enjoy your victory."

"But it is not _my_ victory, is it," he said harshly. "It's Bard's. He triumphed where I failed."

"I wouldn't say you failed," she said diplomatically. "You were forced into an impossible situation. We all were."

"True," he replied, glancing at her as she struggled to keep up with his long, brisk strides. "Erebor is won, even if we did not do the winning. You are free to return to Nemere now."

Talaitha's pace faltered. She felt hurt and taken aback by his dismissal of her. "I said I would stay until Erebor is restored."

"You will receive your share, if that is what you worry about." His tone was casual, almost mocking, and it set Talaitha's teeth on edge.

"I didn't join your Company for the gold! I joined it to help you reclaim Erebor for your people." She looked away, reminding herself that Thorin's current behavior was caused by the gold sickness, and when she spoke again, it was in a softer voice. "You know me, Thorin. You know that the gold is and always was inconsequential to me."

"Then you are either fortunate or foolish," he said, with a bitter laugh. "For you did more to deserve it than I did."

"For Valar's sake, Thorin." She stopped him with a hand on his elbow and pulled hard enough to move him towards her. "This self-pity needs to end _now_. Yes, Bard killed Smaug, and yes, you owe him payment." The stormy expression on Thorin's face did not escape her notice, but she'd already spoken carelessly, so she might as well continue. "But it was not Bard the Bowman who initiated this quest. It was not Bard the Bowman who endured Middle-earth's perils to rebuild his people's ancestral home."

"I do not owe him anything," Thorin growled, wrenching his arm from Talaitha's grasp.

She looked back at Balin, biting her lip, silently questioning what to do now. But Balin had been unable to help Thorin's grandfather, and he could not help Thorin either. He shook his head gravely. Talaitha sighed and once again ran to catch up with the tall dwarf.

"Remember Thrór," she said softly, echoing Legolas' parting words. That made Thorin pause, and when he turned to her, she was surprised to see his gaze clear of anger and possessive greed. "This is not you."

He exhaled a ragged breath, as if with it, he could expel the sickness, then pulled her close and buried his face in the crook of her neck. The sound of footsteps following them grew silent. The others had stopped a good distance away and averted their gazes to give Talaitha and Thorin privacy in this moment of uncharacteristic vulnerability.

"I need-" he whispered against her neck but broke off, unable to finish.

She had understood anyway.

"I'm here," Talaitha said, tightening her arms around him and kissing the top of his head. "I'll be here for as long as you need."

#

The dwarves spent the next few days exploring Erebor and clearing away the century-old debris and rubble. Dwalin and Bofur built a temporary door for the front entrance that sufficed in keeping the warmth inside and the wind outside, but a stronger, grander one would inevitably need to be constructed when the rest of the mountain was habitable.

Fili and Kili had gone out hunting and had returned with a pheasant, a few rabbits, and some fish from the river. When Talaitha saw that they had only brought back meat, however, she'd sent them out again to forage for fruits and vegetables, unperturbed by their complaints. In fact, she had resumed her work with more amusement than was befitting its nature, because she'd taken charge of the dwarf remains after sensing that most of the others were reluctant to do it. Óin and Nori offered to help, and the three of them relocated the skeletons to a large, unused room off the main hall, where they would remain until they could be given proper burials. Once they had finished, they could only walk about the room with great care, for the rearticulated bones were placed as near to each other as was possible without commingling the remains.

Talaitha was exiting the skeleton storage room, when she saw Bilbo set down the spoon he used to stir the soup, glance furtively at the dwarves, and light a torch. The others were too preoccupied with their tasks to notice him, but Talaitha thought his behavior was strange. He spotted her, eyes widening momentarily in surprise, and she beckoned him over.

"Is the soup ready?" Talaitha asked, watching him with veiled interest.

"The soup?" he repeated, glancing back at the fire. "Yes, nearly."

"Oh, good. You'd be surprised how hungry one can get after moving dwarf bones."

Bilbo shifted on his feet, his gaze darting to the closed door of the skeleton storage room. He gave an awkward laugh. "Yes, well...if you'll excuse me, I'll go tell Thorin dinner's ready."

Talaitha watched him walk quickly but quietly into the mountain, her eyes narrowing in thought. Where _was_ Thorin anyway? He had been absent for most of the day, which was odd, considering that everyone else was working to restore Erebor. And then there was Bilbo, who seemed anxious and almost guilty. Curiosity tempted her, but she didn't follow the hobbit, reluctant to attract attention to his behavior. With a final glance at the passage down which Bilbo had disappeared, Talaitha helped Bombur set the wooden table and waited for Bilbo to return with Thorin.

But he never did.

#

Bilbo found himself standing twenty feet from the treasure chamber, rubbing his clammy palms on his trousers.

With each passing day, he watched Thorin grow increasingly obsessed with finding the Arkenstone, and the change alarmed him. If the dwarf king discovered the jewel in his possession, Bilbo knew the consequences would be dire. That was why he was here. To return it. With a determined nod, he strode forward.

And stopped so abruptly that he nearly dropped his torch.

In the shadows by the door, stood Thorin Oakenshield.

"What are you doing, Bilbo?" he asked suspiciously, hand on the hilt of a dwarf-made sword.

"Nothing!" Bilbo replied, a bit too cheerfully. "Just exploring. I got curious as to what's behind that door."

Thorin saw through his poor lie. "We came through that door," he said, walking, though Bilbo thought it looked more like _stalking_ , towards him. "You know very well what lies behind it."

"I, uh- I just wanted to-"

"I know what you wanted," Thorin interrupted, his voice low and dangerous, his eyes glinting coldly.

Before Bilbo even registered the movement, a sword flew up with a _clang_ against the marble wall. The flat of the blade touched Bilbo's chest, barring his way. Thorin slowly turned the sword, forcing the hobbit back, until the sharp tip rested above Bilbo's heart.

"You thought you would sneak inside and steal my Arkenstone to display on your mantelpiece."

The hobbit's eyes widened, his hands coming up in a gesture of innocence, despite the startling validity of the dwarf's accusation. Although Bilbo had no intention of taking the Arkenstone home, he had, in fact, stolen the jewel. It now felt very heavy in his trouser pocket, and he resisted the suicidal urge to withdraw it.

As Thorin studied him, he dug the sword's point into the hobbit's coat, watching for any sign of dishonesty. Bilbo tensed, not even daring to breathe, trying to keep the panic hidden and praying to whichever of the Valar happened to be listening.

After a moment that felt more like an hour, Thorin sheathed his blade.

"Go," he barked.

And Bilbo went. Quickly.

Balin, who had also been searching for Thorin, had witnessed the confrontation. He stepped forward now.

"Was that necessary, Laddie?"

Thorin turned his glare on the elder dwarf. "I will not risk this quest for the life of one burglar."

"His name is Bilbo." There was a slight edge to Balin's normally kind voice. "The quest is over. We have made it safely to Erebor, and Smaug is dead. The threat is gone."

"Do you not understand?" Thorin asked, shaking his head in disbelief. "Without the Arkenstone, there _is_ no Erebor. Smaug may as well still reign!" he shouted. "And the hobbit is plotting to steal the stone. I am sure of it. His name is not Bilbo, it is Thief!"

Balin stepped back in shock. He had seen such irrational behavior once before but could do nothing to stop it then, either.

"Listen to yourself, Thorin," he said sharply. "Don't you realize who you sound like?"

"Keep your thoughts to yourself, _old_ friend," Thorin hissed.

For an instant, Balin expected a blade at his chest, too, but Thorin just clenched his jaw and turned on his heel. He wrenched open the door of the treasury and stormed inside.

When Balin returned to their temporary residence hall, the others, including a stoic Bilbo, were already seated at the table. A cauldron of steaming soup had been placed in the middle.

"Thorin is assessing the repairs that need to be done deeper in the mountain," announced Balin, with a smile. "He said to eat without him."

After dinner, though, while Talaitha was collecting the empty bowls to wash, Balin came up behind her.

"Treasury," he whispered.

A slight downturn of her lips was the only indication that she had heard him. She called to Kili. "Is there any more of the pheasant you and Fili caught today?"

"A thigh. Why?"

"I thought I'd bring some to Thorin."

"The soup has vegetables in it, though," Kili said cheekily, handing her a plate of pheasant meat, berries, and cram. "Are you sure he wouldn't like that better."

"The soup will be cold by the time he eats it," Talaitha retorted. "So I doubt he'll like _that_."

"Well, the leftover will be over the fire anyway, if he wants it," said Bombur.

Talaitha nodded. "I'll tell him."

She took the torch Glóin proffered her and thought wryly that with both hands full, if she encountered a hostile animal, she'd have to throw the plate of food at it before she could draw her sword.

But she didn't meet any animals. She did, however, take a wrong staircase somewhere and found herself two floors above the treasury, in a long hallway with doors on either side. Her curiosity got the better of her. Balancing the plate on a bent knee, Talaitha opened the door but nearly dropped the food and torch when heavy footsteps sounded behind her. She whirled around and met Thorin's cool gaze.

"What are you doing up here?" he asked.

Though the question resembled his previous one to Bilbo, Thorin's tone and demeanor couldn't have been more different. With his hands clasped loosely behind his back and a ghost of a smile upon his lips, he watched Talaitha. But if she'd have dared to look more closely, she would have seen the hint of something dark and sinister hiding behind the affection in his gaze.

"I got lost," she replied, blushing.

Thorin grinned, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "So now you understand how I lost my way in Hobbiton."

"Yes, but Erebor is a far cry from Hobbiton," she said wryly. "And none of your kin got lost."

"Fair point," he laughed. Then he saw the door before which Talaitha stood and seemed to remember why he was there. "This is one of the residence halls. Many warriors I once knew lived here."

"And many warriors will again," she said softly. "Since I brought you dinner, will you show me your room?"

A shadow crossed his face, and she thought he would refuse. But then he nodded, taking the plate in one hand and her hand in the other, and led her up two more flights of stairs to another residence corridor. This one, however, only had a single door at the very end. He opened it.

Thorin entered cautiously with the torch, searching for any threat that might've sneaked in while Smaug had slept. Satisfied that there was none, he walked further inside and began lighting candles, until the entire room was illuminated. Talaitha, still standing in the doorway, smiled fondly when she saw that shelves full of books lined one of the walls. But as her gaze passed over his large, fur-draped bed, she felt suddenly nervous. For all her emotional and physical intimacy with Thorin, being in his quarters was somehow different.

"Talaitha?"

His voice broke her daze. She gave him a small smile and followed him inside. He dusted off a high-backed, leather chair and placed it in front of a full-length mirror. After rummaging through a carved, wooden box, he motioned her towards the chair.

"Sit."

Talaitha caught glimpses of him in the mirror, as he moved about the room. And then he was behind her, with his hands in her hair, gently unraveling her messy braids. Thorin coaxed apart her folded hands to drop five silver beads into them, one of which was the bead he had given her on the mountain. They were all etched with the same marking. His.

She looked up to see him watching her in the mirror.

"Shall I proceed?" Thorin whispered, his breath hot on her neck.

Talaitha nodded, not trusting her voice. The past week had been a whirlwind of emotions, and she felt overwhelmed.

He brushed the tangles from her hair with surprising care, allowing his fingers to linger in the copper waves longer than necessary. She reveled in it, closing her eyes and sighing softly in contentment, as he began braiding the strands. He smiled while he worked, his index finger tickling her palm each time he picked up a silver bead.

When he finished, he touched her shoulder. "Go look."

Talaitha picked up a small, silver mirror with which she could see the back of her head and stood in front of the full-length mirror. Her lips parted, as she glimpsed the elegant design. Some of her hair had been pulled back into a double braid that extended down the middle of her back. On either side of her head, a thin braid led loosely into the center one. A smaller braid trailed from each temple, but unlike Thorin's, which hung freely, these were braided into the hair itself, incorporating more as they progressed. Finally, two beads had been twisted into the double braid, and the remaining three secured the ends of her double braid and her temple braids.

"They're beautiful, Thorin," she said, with a smile that lit up her green eyes. "Thank you."

He returned her smile and moved closer. "It was my pleasure."

"Should I do yours now?" Talaitha asked uncertainly. She was unsure of the appropriate response to such an affectionate gesture.

"Later," came the rumbling reply.

Thorin cupped her face and kissed her with such intensity that her knees would have buckled if she hadn't wrapped her arms around his neck. Surrounded by the warm glow of candles, she thought about what it would be like to spend the rest of her days like this, kissing him and caring for each other.

Then his tongue touched hers, and she stopped thinking altogether.


	37. A Remedy for Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin discovers a temporary cure for gold sickness. 
> 
> This chapter is rated **M**.

One night, while the Company was settling down to dinner, Kili ran into the hall, looking alarmed.

"They're coming!"

He had been outside gathering firewood and still clutched the branches.

"Who are, Lad?" Balin asked calmly, nodding to Dwalin to take the firewood before Kili dropped it.

"The men of Lake Town. They're still far off, but from the lights of their torches, their number is large."

"Dwalin, Glóin, barricade the door," Thorin ordered. "The rest of you will remain inside until we ascertain their intentions." He glanced pointedly at Talaitha, who had taken to stargazing, because she claimed it was unnatural not to see the sky every night.

When the door had been secured, they ate, though their usual banter had been replaced with a tense silence. If the people of Esgaroth wanted war, the Company knew they would fare poorly. But if they came for treasure, as Legolas had warned they would, Thorin's refusals to compromise might result in war anyway.

That night, the Company slept little and fitfully, listening for sounds of an attack. But they heard nothing, save for animals and Bombur's snores, the fat dwarf unsurprisingly being one of the few to sleep well. Talaitha tossed and turned, unable to find a comfortable position. She sighed in frustration and gave up, taking a torch from the sconce and sneaking into the skeleton storage room. It seemed an unlikely place in which to seek solace, but Talaitha felt at peace while with bones. She hoped examining them would relax her and finally enable her to sleep.

But her solitude was interrupted when Thorin walked inside, stumbling as he nearly stepped on a fibula.

"What are you doing here?" she whispered and crouched to get a closer look at a skull.

"I could ask you the same question," he replied, kneeling beside her. There was little room, so their shoulders and thighs touched.

"It bothers me that we don't know who these skeletons belonged to in life. They deserve better than unmarked graves."

Thorin smiled softly, touched that she cared about his departed kin. It only reinforced his certainty that she would make a fine queen for his people, if that future came to fruition.

"Aye, they do, but we will honor them nevertheless," he said. "And they currently receive ample attention from a beautiful woman."

She looked at him, brow arched in amusement. "I do not believe my attention matters to them either way."

"Perhaps not." Thorin took her hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. "But it matters to me. Your compassion for others, for those who you have never known, stirs me. I have lived so long only concerned about my own kin that I failed to see others."

"You had little choice," said Talaitha, leaning against him. "But you can change that now by being fair with Bard."

"I intend to be fair with him if he is fair with me."

She sighed softly and let the matter drop, knowing that he would only react adversely if she pushed him. He appeared to be free of the gold sickness for now, and that was more important than what would happen when the people of Lake Town arrived.

"Are you ready to sleep?" Thorin asked, feeling her breathing grow increasingly steadier.

"I am," she said, allowing him to help her stand.

"Come, then."

He led her to an isolated section of the hall, where blankets were already spread out, and laid down beside her. Thorin smiled, his heart filling with affection, when she pillowed her head upon his chest. With his arms around her, he fell asleep to the faint scent of lilacs and a sense of peace.

#

The morning dawned cold and dreary. A chill wind blew in from the north, as if heralding the disastrous encounter that everyone knew was a possibility. Thorin stood behind the wall with Fili, Kili, Balin, and Talaitha. He was unarmed, but he had insisted that both Kili and Talaitha bring their bows and arrows.

A large group appeared in the valley, the men of Lake Town carrying a blue banner, while the fewer wood elves carried a green one. As the congregation neared, Thorin and his companions saw that Bard and Legolas led it, though the elf appeared less than pleased about it. Talaitha hoped he would be the voice of reason, for she knew neither Bard nor Thorin would be.

"You march upon the gates of Thorin, son of Thráin, King under the Mountain, as if armed for battle."

"We are not foes, Thorin Oakenshield, for even now, I am pleased to see the rumors of your death were false," said Bard. "But there is a matter we must discuss."

"I know this matter and will not discuss it. No man or elf has any claim to the wealth of my people. Your coming here outfitted for war turns you from friend to foe."

"Do not forget that my kindred aided you in your time of need, or that _we_ slew the dragon." Bard's tone now had the same hard edge to it as Thorin's. "We are not robbers. We merely desire our due and agreed-upon recompense."

"I will not parley with armed men at my gate," Thorin replied, his voice growing louder. "Nor at all with the elves you have brought along, who have even less claim than you to dwarvish gold!"

Legolas met Thorin's cold gaze and explained calmly, "We come in support of the people of Esgaroth, as you well know. We do not desire your riches."

"Not so long ago, you and I respected one another, Thorin Oakenshield," said Bard. "Out of deference to that, we will give you time to reconsider."

"Your offer is in vain," growled Thorin. "For I will not reconsider."

"Very well." Bard sounded disappointed but resigned. He nodded to a man beside him, who strode forward to address Thorin.

"We ask you a final time, Thorin, son of Thráin, he who calls himself King under the Mountain. Deliver one-sixteenth of Erebor's treasure unto Bard the Bowman, Girion's heir and the dragon-slayer, so that he may rebuild after Smaug's destruction. Do this, and you will remain a friend. Refuse, and you shall become a foe."

Thorin wrenched Kili's bow from his nephew's grasp and shot an arrow at the speaker with such force that it got stuck in his shield, quivering.

" _That_ is my answer!"

Bard bowed his head. "Then I declare your mountain besieged. We will not raise arms against you and yours, but until you reconsider, no one leaves Erebor."

The rage in Thorin's eyes as he watched the elves and men leave worried Talaitha. She tried to coax the bow from his hands, in case he decided to fire more arrows, but Thorin merely thrust the weapon into her arms and stormed inside, leaving Bilbo and the dwarves on edge in his furious wake.

Talaitha began to follow, but Dwalin rushed forward and took her elbow. "I wouldn't, Lass."

"He cannot be left alone." She looked entreatingly at Balin, who nodded slowly.

"Aye, she's right, Brother," said the old dwarf. "Though I like it no more than you."

Bilbo ran over to her, taking her hand. "He's not himself," he said quietly, though Balin and Dwalin heard, as well. "Be careful."

"I will be," she reassured.

Talaitha found Thorin in the treasury, seated upon a wooden chair with plush, velvet upholstery and intricate designs carved into the legs. He held a silver goblet of wine in his right hand and was staring unseeingly at a pile of gold before him. Though the room had been lit with candles, the area in which he sat was partly hidden in the shadows, giving Thorin's expression a dark, almost sinister appearance.

"You should not have come," he said tonelessly, not taking his gaze off the treasure.

"You knew I would."

"Aye, but you still should not have."

She moved in front of him, cutting off his view of the gold and exposing herself to his cold glare.

"Have you forgotten that I now wear five of your hair beads? By your own admission, that means you are mine," she said lightly. "It's a bit too possessive for _my_ taste, but I suppose I'm not in Nemere, am I?"

His gaze flicked from her hair to a glittering ruby at her feet. "Perhaps you should be."

"Yes, perhaps," Talaitha agreed and sighed. That was the second time he had dismissed her, yet it stung no less. "But I'm not. I'm here, spending the evening with a stubborn dwarf in a room I've grown to hate."

"I did not ask you to follow me."

"Of course you didn't," she replied, exasperated. "You're too proud. And that pride has now earned you the enmity of your neighbors and condemned us to starvation."

"This gold belongs to the dwarves!" Thorin slammed his fist onto the arm of his chair. "My people are so scattered and splintered that, without it, we are nothing."

"You hide behind your kin, using them to justify your obsession with the treasure and with the Arkenstone," she retorted. "Your people need a leader, not mountains of gold!"

He regarded her calmly, but there was a hint of a warning in his tone. "Tread with care, Fairy. My fondness for even _you_ has its limits."

"Your loyalty to this Company, too, apparently, because you are willing to let us starve for the sake of wealth."

Even before she had finished talking, she knew she had overstepped her bounds this time. Thorin stood and hurled his goblet across the room, where it crashed into the marble wall with a deafening _clang_ and splattered its contents in a pool of red. He advanced upon her, eyes blazing, expression so fierce that Talaitha took a step back. She expected him to grasp her arms, to shake her, hit her, or hurl her across the room, too.

But instead he kissed her, _hard_ , nearly bruising her lips.

Initially stunned, she didn't react immediately, but once it registered that he was not hurting her, she kissed him back with equal roughness, taking his lower lip between her teeth and nipping it. His hands slid from her hips to grip her buttocks and pull her body flush against his, lifting her left leg to allow for closer, more intimate contact. Talaitha moaned into his mouth when her core rubbed against his stiffening erection, and his hold on her tightened at the sound.

His mouth left hers to trail open-mouthed kisses and light bites down her neck, until it reached the neckline of her blouse. Before she could unfasten her corset, his fingers were deftly working at the buckles and ties, and when the leather garment fell to the floor, Thorin lifted the mithril shirt over her head. Talaitha's hands rose to his mail, but he caught her wrists.

"Not tonight."

She glared at him and wrenched her wrists free. He smirked, amused.

"You always _were_ spirited."

"Yes, and look at where it's gotten me," she said sourly. "I'm far from home, at the mercy of a once-exiled dwarf king, who has an unhealthy fondness for things that sparkle."

The smirk disappeared, replaced with a look of dark desire. Before she could react, he was fisting his hands into the neckline of her blouse and ripping it down the middle. For an instant, she was too shocked to do anything but stare at him wide-eyed and half-naked. But soon the chill touched her exposed skin, and she crossed her arms over her breasts, looking anywhere except at Thorin.

"It is not the gold that captivates me now," he said, in a deep, silky voice that sent a shiver up her spine. "It is braids of copper and eyes like peridot." Thorin gently pulled her arms away from her chest and trailed a finger from the hollow of her throat to the tops of her breeches. "It is skin like alabaster."

Whatever reply she had formulated died in her throat when his hands cupped her breasts, kneading them and circling her nipples with his thumbs. Her breath hitched, as he replaced a hand with his mouth, licking and suckling her flesh, alternating between teeth, tongue, and lips to send a bolt of desire to her core.

Talaitha watched, transfixed, as he slowly knelt in front of her, trailing kisses from her breasts, over her belly, and along the skin above her breeches. Untying the laces, he pushed her trousers and smallclothes over her hips to caress her now-bare buttocks, his hands sliding around to the apex of her thighs. Thorin looked up at her, pale-blue irises eclipsed, while he stroked her sex, grinning at the hitch in her breath. His thumb found her clit, and as he parted her folds, his cock twitched at the moisture already present there. When her heady scent became too enticing, his tongue darted out to taste. Talaitha gasped and clutched at his shoulders, bucking her hips towards his face. His mouth closed over her core to lick and suckle her clit, the soft moan she uttered going straight to his groin. He slipped in first one finger, then two, until he sensed the tension in her muscles that signaled her impending climax. He pulled away, receiving a sharp tug on his hair in protest.

"You are no demure maiden, _that_ I can already tell," Thorin remarked, with a snort.

"Did you expect me to be?" Though she was flushed and slightly breathless, she still managed to arch a brow.

"No," he smirked. "Bend over with your hands on the chair."

"Wouldn't you rather fuck me on a pile of gold?" she quipped but nevertheless did as he'd instructed.

"Do not tempt me," he murmured, unlacing his breeches.

Gripping her hip with one hand and his cock with the other, he repeatedly dragged the head through her folds. When it caught on the edge of her opening, Talaitha instinctively pushed back against him, but he moved away, teasing her. Finally, on the fourth stroke, he slipped inside, pleased that he hadn't encountered her barrier. Taking a maiden would have required him to be more gentle than he cared to be.

It had been years since he'd been with a woman, and it showed. His jaw clenched as he bottomed out, the sensations already intense enough that he risked spending himself prematurely. So he stilled for a moment, allowed them both to adjust. When he felt the urge pass, he began to move, pulling out until only the head remained and thrusting sharply back in, drawing forth a cry from Talaitha and a groan from him. He tried to maintain control, but the way her smooth, hot, _tight_ channel hugged his cock sent his mind reeling. With one hand on her hip and the other fisted in her hair, he set a hard and fast pace.

Talaitha was in ecstasy each time his length slid over that bundle of nerves. When he let go of her hair to rub her clit, she moaned and covered his hand with hers to press harder. He obliged and, if possible, pounded into her even faster and more forcefully, until she came with a shuddering, gasping cry. A few more thrusts and Thorin followed, burying himself to the hilt and shouting his release. An arm encircled her middle to pull her tightly against him, as he molded his body around hers and rested his cheek on her back. They stood like that, panting, while their heart rate slowed to normal. Only once he had softened did Thorin pull out, watching Talaitha wince as she straightened and stretched.

Thorin helped her dress with an affectionate gleam in his eyes. The sinister force that had possessed him was gone, though he knew it was only a matter of time before it returned. He was grateful to Talaitha for drawing that poison from him once again, but how many more times would she be willing to do it? He frowned, considering the implications of both the gold sickness and her interventions. He had little control over himself while it consumed him; _that_ fact was made abundantly clear by tonight's events. What if one day he snapped and hurt her? What if one day she decided she'd had enough? Their coupling had been animalistic but not violent, yet he still felt nauseated.

Unsurprisingly, when Talaitha spied his dour expression, she guessed his thoughts.

"It was the only way," she said, lifting a hand to his cheek. "You feel once more yourself, do you not?" Thorin nodded. "Then the sex served a dual purpose."

His chest tightened, and he placed a hand over hers. "I do not deserve you," Thorin said, his voice thick with emotion. "You are surely a gift from Aulë, sent to save me."

"Or from Yavanna. She is the creator of the szelemér."

"And also the wife of Aulë, our creator," he said, smiling softly. "It seems our meeting that night in Bag End was no mere coincidence."

Talaitha blushed, which he found both endearing and amusing, for only a few minutes ago, she'd been bent naked over a chair and hadn't batted an eyelash. But when he alluded, albeit vaguely, to a life together, she became the demure maiden they both knew she ordinarily wasn't.

"We should return to the others," she said, moving away.

But Thorin pulled her back, enveloping her in his arms and resting his cheek atop her head. "I am sorry for how I treated you. It was abhorrent and unwarranted."

"I know you cannot help it," she said, relaxing against him.

"Nevertheless, I am ashamed," he admitted. "You are the only one who can abate this madness. Why is that?"

"I don't know. Maybe it's because of my healing gift."

As Talaitha remembered Galadriel's parting words, she understood their meaning at last. She had healed Thorin's body, and now she may also soothe his mind.

"Perhaps," he agreed. "Whatever the reason, I am grateful for it. And I am also thankful that you are here with me."

"Oh, Thorin," she whispered, clutching his tunic. "There is nowhere else I'd rather be."

And to her surprise, she realized it was the truth.


	38. Just for Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The metaphorical shit hits the metaphorical fan, and something kind of sad happens.

It had been three days since the Company was confined to the mountain, and their food would not last much longer. Bombur lamented most persistently, but the others were concerned, as well. Balin had attempted to broach the subject with Thorin, but Thorin had merely waved him off and had continued to search for the Arkenstone. Seeing this, Bilbo grew increasingly anxious and kept the odd little bundle of clothes that he used as a pillow in sight at all times, for he'd wrapped the jewel inside it. Fortunately for the hobbit, the dwarves were too preoccupied with their tasks throughout the mountain to paid him much attention, but Talaitha had noticed his peculiar behavior.

"We'll figure out a way to get more food," she said one afternoon, while they were chopping vegetables for soup.

Bilbo had been lost in thought and hadn't heard her at first. "Oh, sorry. What did you say?"

Talaitha repeated her reassurance, then frowned. "You've been acting strangely lately."

Bilbo's heart thudded in his chest, but he managed to maintain an impassive expression. "Have I? I guess I'm just worried about what will happen when the food runs out."

"Bilbo, after seven years, I know when you're lying," she said flatly. "Out with it."

"Fine," he sighed. "I had an...an incident with Thorin outside the treasury."

She arched a brow and scooped the chopped carrots into the pot. "Why were you outside the treasury?"

"I got lost?" He smiled sheepishly when Talaitha flashed him a disbelieving look. "All right, all right. It was that evening I'd gone to fetch Thorin for supper."

"And had come back without him," she nodded, remembering. "What was he doing inside the treasury?"

"Nothing," Bilbo replied. "He was standing in the shadows outside it and stopped me before I could enter. He seemed...not himself."

From Talaitha's pained expression, the hobbit realized that she, too, had experienced the dwarf's mercurial disposition.

Placing his hand on hers, he said, "He's been getting better, and I think it's because of you."

She gave him a weak but grateful smile, then slid her hand from his to continue cutting vegetables, a plan brewing in her mind.

#

When Talaitha peeked her head out the main entrance, she saw four men from Lake Town standing guard on either side of it. At the sound of the opening door, they turned towards her.

"You cannot leave the mountain, Miss," said the man nearest her.

She scowled. "I know that, but I need to speak with Prince Legolas."

"He is back at the camp."

Her patience, already taxed by Thorin's unpredictable lapses into gold fever, grew thin. The man was either slow or deliberately unhelpful.

"Can you bring him here?" she asked tartly.

"Aye," he said, sounding uncertain. "Why do you wish to speak with him?"

A thin smile appeared on her lips. "We're old acquaintances."

It took the man nearly twenty minutes to return with the blond elf in tow. When Legolas saw Talaitha leaning out from behind the door, he dismissed the men, who appeared reluctant to leave, and jogged over to her.

"Is anything amiss?" he asked, concern evident in his voice if not in his expression.

"Apart from our impending starvation? No," Talaitha said dryly. "We need food, Legolas."

He listened warily, as she told him her plan.

"There are gaps in the stone along the circumference of the mountain, where I don't think guards are stationed. Well, I've never heard them, at any rate." She paused, observing him intently, but the elf's countenance was inscrutable. "Someone could leave food there unnoticed, which I would then collect."

"And by 'someone,' you mean me."

"No one else is sympathetic to us," she replied, shrugging.

"I am not sympathetic to Thorin _or_ to his kin," Legolas retorted. "I only worry for you." His tone softened, as he regarded her. "Bard would let you leave. He feels indebted to you for helping his child."

Talaitha sighed. "You know I will not abandon these dwarves, not now that we've been through so much together. But I can use what little influence I have to help them."

"You could use it even more effectively beyond these walls."

"I'd be watched," she replied, shaking her head. "Your father would insist on it after the stunt I pulled in Mirkwood."

"Perhaps," Legolas agreed, with a wry smile. "I will do as you request, but only because you stubbornly insist to remain with the dwarves." He took her hand and squeezed it. "Just promise me you will continue trying to persuade Thorin to see reason."

"I promise, though I cannot guarantee he will listen." She stood on her tiptoes, smiling when he obliged her by leaning down, and kissed his cheek. "Thank you, _mellonin_."

#

Talaitha walked into the entrance hall, carrying a large, freshly killed pheasant.

"Catch, Bombur."

He looked up, startled, but caught the bird and stared at it incredulously. "Where did you get this?"

"It was stuffed into one of the cracks near the floor in a corridor on the west side. Along with these." She set down a cloth-wrapped bundle of vegetables. "Perhaps not all the men and elves are against us."

"These will do nicely for a stew," Bombur said and cheerfully began to pluck the bird. "Let us hope our friend continues his generosity."

Her lips twitched. "I feel quite certain that he will."

Talaitha left Bombur to his cooking and made her way to the treasury, where she knew Thorin would be. He looked up when she entered, his eyes brightening. Ever since the night he and Talaitha had had sex, the gold sickness had been mild. But they both knew it still simmered below the surface, biding its time and waiting for the opportune moment to strike.

"I received a letter from Legolas," she said, handing him the folded parchment.

He stared at it, frowning, then looked at her expectantly. "It is in Elvish."

"Yes, I suspect so that the humans wouldn't be able to read it," she replied. "He writes that an army of about five hundred dwarves marches towards Erebor from the northeast. Your kin?"

"Dáin," Thorin spat. "Coming for gold, no doubt, though he did nothing to deserve it." Then his brows furrowed. "Why would the elf prince tell you this?"

"Probably for the same reason that he's sneaking food to us," she said, grinning. "Because he's a friend."

"To you," Thorin remarked dryly. "If you weren't imprisoned with us, he would not be so kind."

"Then it's fortunate that I am," she said and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

He caught her before she could move away and snaked his arms around her waist. "Aye," he whispered, lips ghosting over hers. "Very fortunate indeed."

"Thorin," she protested, though her smile ruined the objection. "I need to help Bombur with dinner."

"Later." Thorin kissed her neck, reveling in the shiver that went through her. "There are better things you could be doing with those hands." His tongue darted out to trace along her collarbone, and she arched into him reflexively, swallowing a moan when she felt his erection against her hip.

"It's too early in the day for this," she argued and tried to remove his arms from around her. But he only tightened his hold.

"How do you know?" he purred, nosing below her ear. "You cannot see the sun from inside the mountain. It could already be dark, in which case, it is not too early."

"There are things that need doing," Talaitha insisted. "The forges need to be lit so that metal can be made to repair the doors. Because right now, they let in the cold air."

Thorin sighed against her neck. "You are right, of course," he said, pulling away. He looked into her eyes, smiling fondly and cupping her cheek. "What would I do without you?"

"Starve and freeze, probably."

"Hush, little minx." He pinched her side playfully, eliciting a squeal from her, before he led her from the chamber. With a chaste kiss, they parted ways, Thorin going right, further into the mountain, and Talaitha going left towards the main hall.

#

That night, Bilbo reached a decision regarding the quandary he'd been deliberating since Thorin refused Bard's share. The dwarves had found barrels of ale and wine in the lower reaches of the mountain and were currently indulging around the fire, making it easy for the hobbit to slip away with rope and the cloth-bound Arkenstone in his pockets. Bombur had first watch, but he was already yawning.

"No moon tonight," said the dwarf, as Bilbo stepped out onto the wall. "Anyone could just sneak up to the mountain, and I probably wouldn't see him."

"If your eyes are tired, I can take over for a while," the hobbit offered.

"Are you sure?" Bombur yawned again.

Bilbo nodded. "I suspect I shan't sleep much tonight anyway."

"You're a good fellow, Bilbo Baggins," said Bombur, thumping the hobbit on the back. "If you see or hear anything, wake me first. I'll be in the inner chamber."

As soon as Bombur had gone inside, Bilbo slipped on the ring, fastened his rope, and slid over and down the wall, biting the inside of his cheek to keep a frightened shout at bay. It was dark, nearly pitch black, and the path quickly became unfamiliar. He reached the bend where he had to cross the river, which was wide and flowing more quickly than Bilbo would have liked. Steeling himself, he hopped across the stones and was only one jump away from the other side, when he slipped and fell into the icy water. He had barely scrambled out onto the bank, shivering and trying not to cough, when two elves appeared in the gloom, bright lanterns held aloft.

"That was no fish," said the first elf. "I wonder if it was that strange, little creature who is said to be the servant of the dwarves."

Bilbo gave an indignant snort, then clapped a hand over his mouth, horrified that now the elves were walking towards his hiding place. Realizing that the secret of his ring was at stake, he took it off and popped out from behind a boulder.

"I am no servant," he announced.

"So it _is_ the hobbit," said the first elf, grinning and shining his lantern on Bilbo's face.

"The stories are true, then. You went about our caves unseen and unheard to engineer the dwarves' escape," the second elf remarked. "And now you have employed the same skills to bypass the sentries."

Bilbo shrugged. "Hobbits are light on their feet."

"Indeed, but why be light on your feet tonight, Halfling?"

The hobbit took a deep breath and said, "My name is Bilbo Baggins, and I wish to speak to Bard the Bowman."

"What is your business with him?" asked the second elf.

"It is of a diplomatic nature," said Bilbo guardedly. "The sooner you allow me to speak to him, the sooner you can leave this cheerless place."

The elves shared a glance. "Very well."

They led Bilbo to the camp, where he waited in front of a large fire and warmed his chilled limbs. There were tents everywhere he looked, most of them occupied by the surviving men, women, and children of Lake Town. It was a temporary settlement until Dale and Esgaroth were rebuilt, but Bilbo feared it may soon become a war camp.

It wasn't long before he was joined by Bard, Legolas, and Thranduil. The elf king was the first to break the silence.

"Do you bring word from Thorin Oakenshield?"

"No, but I bring a proposition," Bilbo replied. "I'm tired of this whole affair. I want to go home, where it's comfortable and peaceful. I also think you're owed your share, Bard, but the longer you keep vigil here, the less likely Thorin is to give in. He's quite content to sit on his gold and starve."

"Such a fool deserves to starve," Thranduil remarked tonelessly.

Bard nodded. "He reneged on the agreement."

"Well, not entirely," said Bilbo, ducking his head when Bard's gaze hardened. "When he made the deal with the Master, the amount of money wasn't specified. So the amount you requested of Thorin is not part of the original agreement."

"That one-sixteenth is our due share for killing the dragon, a task which Thorin should have done, and for the damages caused by Smaug," Bard argued. "It is a fair demand."

"Quite so," agreed Bilbo. "But I hope you realize there's an army of dwarves approaching."

Thranduil glared at his son, who met his father's gaze unflinchingly. Bilbo sensed they had quarreled about Legolas' attachment to Talaitha even before the prince had written that letter.

"We know," said Bard, glancing at Legolas with an arched brow. "But dwarves are inherently greedy. No doubt this army will want a share of Erebor's gold and will also be denied. The encounter may play out in our favor."

"I know the dwarf who leads that army," Thranduil said gravely. "Dáin is no more a friend to you than is his cousin Thorin."

The hobbit nodded. "If it comes to it, Dáin will more likely side with his kin than with men and elves. At least until there is no longer competition for the treasure."

"Perhaps," Bard mused. "But why do you tell us this? Some would view it as an act of betrayal against your friends."

"I'm sure Thorin would," Bilbo muttered. "But I only wish to help him and everyone else involved so I can finally go home."

"How could _you_ possibly help _us_?" asked Thranduil, his blue-gray eyes glinting with derisive amusement.

Legolas smiled wryly. "I would not be so quick to underestimate him, _Ada_. The hobbit was the one who sneaked the dwarves from their cells."

Bilbo met the elf king's gaze and withdrew the Arkenstone.

"I can help with this."

Though Thranduil was familiar with the stone, he nevertheless stared at it in amazement. "The Heart of the Mountain," he said, voice tinged with something akin to reverence. "It was said to have been lost when Smaug attacked Erebor."

"It has been found again," Bilbo replied. "Thorin values the stone above anything else, so if you possess it, he'll be more likely to see reason when you bargain with him."

Bilbo handed the jewel to Bard, who took it as though in a daze.

"But if Thorin covets it as much as you say, how can you give it so freely."

Thranduil, who had been studying the hobbit since he'd arrived, answered.

"He cannot."

"Not exactly, no," Bilbo hedged. "But Thorin will thank me in the end."

"I think not," said the elf king.

Legolas nodded, regarding the hobbit with a frown. "If Thorin learns of what you have done, his wrath will be terrible."

"It's a chance I have to take."

When the meeting ended, the two elves who had discovered Bilbo escorted him back across the river to the path that led to the mountain. As he passed a tree, an old man, wrapped in a gray cloak, with a pipe between his teeth, rose from the shadows.

"Bilbo Baggins," came the mirthful voice. "There is always more to you than one expects."

"Gandalf!" Bilbo laughed, genuinely glad to see him. "You always appear right when we need you."

"An old wizard's trick," he winked. "Now, tell me exactly what has happened, for I have much news for you."

#

At dawn the next morning, the Company was summoned to the wall by a shrill horn call. Bofur complained that it was a tad ostentatious for such an early hour, and the others, cursing and grumbling, agreed.

Thorin moved beside Talaitha. He squeezed her hand briefly in greeting and focused on the lone messenger hurrying towards Erebor. The man informed them that due to recent tidings, the situation had changed, and bade the dwarves to listen to a new parley.

Believing that the new conference concerned Dáin's impending arrival, Thorin regarded the messenger smugly.

"If they come weaponless and few in number, I will hear them."

The Company watched the runner cross the river to a large tree, under which a small group of elves and men stood, waiting for Thorin's decision. Bard, Legolas, Thranduil, and a cloaked and hooded man approached, weaponless as requested. However, the old man carried a box of iron-bound wood.

"Hail, Thorin!" cried Bard. "Are you still of the same mind?"

"My mind does not change with the rising and setting of a few suns," Thorin replied coldly. "The elf has not departed yet, and until he does, you come in vain to bargain with me."

"Is there truly nothing for which you would yield a portion of your gold?"

"Nothing that you or your friends have to offer," scoffed Thorin.

The old man opened the box and held a brilliant jewel above his head. It caught the sun's rays and scattered them against the mountain, nearly blinding the Company with its intensity.

"Not even the Arkenstone?"

Thorin stood stricken, anger and disbelief contorting his face as he stared at the stone. No one spoke for a long time, unsure of what to say. The dwarves didn't know how Bard had acquired the Arkenstone, but Talaitha did. She glanced at Bilbo, and the nervous twitch of his hands confirmed her suspicions. Her heart sank.

"That stone is the heirloom of my family. It belonged to my grandfather and now rightfully belongs to me," Thorin said, his tone hard and unyielding. "I will not purchase what is already mine."

"Then you will be without it," Bard replied. "For we shall not give it back without receiving something in return."

"How came you by it?" Thorin demanded, his fury growing.

Bilbo hesitantly raised his gaze. "I gave it to them."

Thorin looked shocked, as though he couldn't believe Bilbo capable of such a reckless act. Then he was advancing upon the hobbit, his murderous expression making Bilbo shrink back in fear.

" _You_!" thundered the dwarf. "You miserable, little creature!" He lifted Bilbo by the collar of his coat, until he was level with the edge of the wall.

Talaitha's eyes widened, as realization dawned. He meant to throw the hobbit over the wall.

"Thorin, stop!" She moved beside him and placed her hands on his arm. "If you hurt Bilbo, I will hurt you."

He didn't acknowledge her, so Talaitha unsheathed one of her daggers and held it to the side of his neck. The sharp tip dug into his skin, drawing blood. Dwalin tried to intervene, but the szelemér glared at him, and he held back.

"Put him down," Talaitha hissed.

Thorin didn't move at first, but when she pressed the dagger against his neck again, he threw Bilbo to the floor and turned on Talaitha, all his rage now directed at her. Dwalin stepped in front of the woman, but Thorin shoved him aside.

"That _rat_ stole from me. He robbed me of my most precious thing!" roared Thorin. "And you dare to defend him?"

"It is a sad day when you value a pretty rock more than your family and friends," Talaitha said coldly. She placed her hands on his shoulder and leaned in close to whisper in his ear. "Even more than the woman for whom you claim to care."

When she pulled away, he averted his gaze, too ashamed to look at her. He wanted to apologize, to make things right, but still his anger and pride would not allow it.

Bilbo glanced warily between the two, but Thorin seemed to have calmed down somewhat.

"I didn't take the Arkenstone because I wanted to keep it for myself," the hobbit explained earnestly. "I took it because I thought it was the only way to end this feud with Bard." The dwarf looked at him, his brows furrowed in thought. "On those grounds, will you let it go?"

"I will," Thorin said grimly. "And I will let you go, too. _Skulk_ down to your friends, Traitor, and may we never meet again."

Now Bard spoke, though more cautiously than before. "What about our gold and silver?"

"They will follow," Thorin replied brusquely.

"Very well," said Bard. "Until then, we keep the stone."

Thorin glared in response, his hateful gaze alighting upon the figure holding the Arkenstone. His hood was now drawn, allowing the dwarf to see his face.

"Gandalf," Thorin spat. "Never again will I have dealings with a wizard or his treacherous friends."

"You are not behaving very nobly as King under the Mountain," Gandalf said calmly. "But things may yet change."

"They may indeed," the dwarf murmured darkly.

Thorin stalked inside, leaving his kin to help Bilbo climb down the wall. They watched in pity as he glumly joined the men and elves, but Talaitha followed Thorin with determined strides.

"He had to do it," she said. "Surely even in _your_ greed-addled mind, you realize that."

His only acknowledgement of her insult was the scowl on his thin lips. "Do you not understand? It is the Arkenstone that grants me the right to rule. Without it, I am nothing!"

The desperation in his voice softened Talaitha's anger, and she placed her hands on his cheeks. "Actually, without it and without the gold, you are a worthy King under the Mountain. You have a good heart, Thorin, but this accursed treasure has poisoned your mind."

"Is that what you truly believe?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tears formed in her eyes, as she looked up at him. "It is, and now you have forced me to choose."

"You will go with the hobbit," he said hollowly. His strong shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Yes," she nodded, and the first tears fell.

"Is there anything I can say or do to change your mind?" He knew there was not, but as he brushed away her tears with his thumbs, he clung to hope.

"I'm sorry," she said, shaking her head. "It's not forever. It's just for now."

"Just for now," Thorin echoed, pulling her into an embrace. When he felt her small frame shake with sobs, he tightened his arms around her and sprinkled kisses upon her hair, forehead, and cheeks.

He didn't know what the coming days would bring, but as he held her, an ominous shadow clouded his heart. He prayed he could rectify his mistake before it was too late and he lost her for good.


	39. So It Begins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Talaitha part, while a new threat approaches.

"You are really leaving, then."

Thorin had spent a sleepless night beside Talaitha, holding her close and dreading the morning, which dawned as gray as his mood. With a heavy heart, he watched her pack her few belongings and stow away her bedroll.

Talaitha looked at him, taking in the dark circles under his eyes and the slight sag of his shoulders. She knew he hadn't slept. Truthfully, she hadn't much, either. Their future hung in a precarious balance, but she would not leave Bilbo on his own, especially if there was to be a battle. The szelemér had tolerated enough from the dwarf.

"You know I am," she replied. "My absence may help you sort out some things, like your priorities."

He winced, about to retort that his priorities were exactly where they should be, but he hadn't even opened his mouth before he realized that was a lie. His priorities had become toxically skewed the moment he had stepped foot inside Erebor. Although he knew _why_ they were distorted, he had no idea how to right them. Or perhaps he did, except the remedy was leaving him in favor of the thieving halfling.

"Then go," he said, without malice. "Go, but do not stay gone forever."

She allowed herself a half-smile. "I hope I won't."

The parting was chaste, for they had already said their goodbyes yesterday, but they both nevertheless felt a sense of loss. As Talaitha slipped through the front door, Thorin turned his back, took a deep breath, and made his way down to the forges.

#

"Didn't Thorin try to stop you?" Bilbo asked. He and Talaitha were sitting upon Ravenhill, looking down at the ruins of Dale.

"No," she replied. "I think he knew I would go no matter what he said."

"Too bad he can't be so agreeable about that blasted treasure."

Talaitha snorted, drawing the attention of the elves standing watch nearby.

"What were you thinking, Bilbo, taking the Arkenstone?"

"I had hoped it would force Thorin's hand and make him pay Bard his share, so that this quest could finally end." The hobbit shrugged. "Bard deserves that gold."

"He does," Talaitha agreed. "But didn't you think Thorin would react badly?" From Bilbo's sheepish smile, she knew he hadn't. "You thought he would thank you?" she asked, incredulous.

"No, of course not," he snapped. "But I thought it would make him see sense."

Talaitha sighed. "Do you remember Mungo Bracegirdle?"

Bilbo nodded. "He had disturbances."

"Right. They made him hear things that weren't really there," said Talaitha. "Thorin's gold sickness is similar. It makes him see friend as foe and a valid request as a threat." Bilbo's expression softened, while Talaitha's grew sad. "There is no way to make him see sense. Not at this point."

"So he'll stay like this?" Bilbo asked, concern tingeing his voice.

"Perhaps," she replied. "Or perhaps it'll take a shock to shake the madness. I thought I could help."

"You did." Bilbo squeezed her hand. "He was getting better. There were days when he didn't succumb at all."

She smiled. "Thank you for cheering me."

"After you had to put up with such a prim and fussy hobbit for seven years, it's the least I can do."

Talaitha laughed and laid her head on Bilbo's shoulder. She still felt torn about leaving Thorin, but the sting had eased a bit, thanks to the hobbit.

#

Talaitha spent the day on Ravenhill avoiding the others, for she knew they would question her about Thorin. But when Bilbo had gone to fetch their dinners, Legolas walked up behind her so silently that she didn't hear him until he spoke.

"What changed your mind?"

Talaitha jumped, startled, and glared at the elf.

"The hobbit's banishment," she replied. "But that doesn't mean I've turned my back on Thorin."

He sat beside her on the outcropping, green, suede-clad legs swinging out in front of him. "He may turn his back on _you_."

"I know you don't have a very high opinion of him. I can't even fault you for that," she said, turning towards the elf. "But the Thorin you see now is not the Thorin _I've_ seen."

Legolas smiled wryly. "You forget, _mellonin_ , that I knew his grandfather. I know Thorin suffers from the same gold sickness as Thrór did, and I worry that he, too, will be overcome by it." A frown appeared between Talaitha's brows. "As do you."

"Yes, which is why I haven't been very sociable today," she sighed, then regarded him curiously. "Your attitude towards Thorin is quite different from your father's. Why?"

"Because I have seen how he cares for you." Legolas smiled when she blushed. "And I do not share my father's interest in riches. His animosity for dwarves began when Thrór denied him treasure, and it has simply passed onto Thorin because his father and grandfather have died."

Talaitha laughed. "Then Thranduil is not _so_ different from Thorin."

"Do not let either one hear you say that," Legolas warned gravely, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his amusement. "This business with the Arkenstone, though, is troubling. Do you believe Thorin will give Bard his share in exchange for it?"

"I hope he will," she replied. "That jewel represents the Line of Durin, and he truly feels he isn't worthy of kingship without it. So there's a very good chance."

Legolas shook his head. "It is difficult to imagine one such as Thorin feeling inadequate. He is proud even among dwarves."

"He is," Talaitha nodded. "Especially of his people. But doubts of his competence and ability to lead constantly cloud his mind. In that way, he is not so very proud."

"You _would_ know better than I," Legolas teased, with a smirk.

Talaitha aimed a kick at his leg, but the elf swung it out of the way.

"How is that pretty, auburn-haired elleth who was smiling at you during the celebration? Tauriel, I believe her name was."

"She is well," Legolas said, watching the szelemér with bright, mirthful eyes. "She has taken over the guard of Mirkwood in my absence."

Talaitha laughed, knowing she could not coax him into admitting anything personal if he did not wish it.

"Very well. Keep your secrets."

#

The next morning was the darkest and gloomiest Talaitha could remember in a long time. The wind had shifted west, bringing with it flurries of snow that coated the camps and tents of the men and elves. Bilbo and Talaitha, the latter of whom was now without Thorin's warm coat, had moved from Ravenhill into the main camp. That was where they sat, huddled by the fire, waiting for something-- _anything_ \--to happen.

Just as Talaitha yawned and contemplated going back to sleep, a shout was heard from the edge of the camp. Two runners came to report that a host of dwarves had appeared around the eastern spur of the mountain and was approaching in the camps' direction.

Dáin had arrived.

Bilbo and Talaitha stayed where they were, watching the men scramble for armor and weapons. Legolas and Thranduil, too, remained seated by the fire, as this was not their fight. They also knew that the dwarves would not attack them. Not yet anyway.

The elves were proven correct when the dwarves laid down their weapons and held up their hands in a gesture of peace. Bard met them, spoke to them, and returned with a scowl.

"They're going to Thorin," he said. "If they reach him, we will never get our gold and silver, for they could simply join forces and fight us for the Arkenstone." He turned to one of his men. "Go to Erebor and inquire about our payment."

Bard sat down heavily on an upturned bucket. "We are on the verge of battle with one I had respected. How did it come to this?"

"A dwarf can be naught but a dwarf," Thranduil said calmly. "Thorin Oakenshield is much like his grandfather, and as such, he is susceptible to the same weakness."

"I think he can overcome it," Talaitha defended.

Thranduil looked at her, blue eyes piercing. "Yet here you are."

She didn't reply, but she didn't need to. Her silence spoke volumes.

The messenger returned without payment or word of when payment would be issued. He also said that Thorin had fired arrows at him, though either the dwarf was a bad shot or he wasn't really aiming for him. Nevertheless, Bard's expression hardened, and he ordered his men to assume battle formations.

"I will not take part in this war for gold," said Thranduil. "The dwarves cannot pass us unless we allow them to. There may yet be reconciliation."

Talaitha glanced at him, startled by his words. "I would have thought you'd be glad for the opportunity to humiliate Thorin in defeat."

"Not over gold," the elf replied coldly.

Talaitha understood. Not so long ago, Thranduil, too, had felt the dangerous lure of treasure.

But it seemed he had misjudged Dáin's dwarves, for suddenly, they sprang forward in attack. Bows twanged on both sides, and arrows whistled. Bilbo and Talaitha hurried to don their armor and grab their weapons, while Legolas ran ahead to organize the elven archers.

Talaitha was buckling her corset, when hundreds of dark shapes appeared on a hilltop to the north. The men and elves paused what they were doing to stare at them, their faces grim, as the figures crested and descended the hill.

"Halt!" cried Gandalf, in a voice like thunder. He stood between the advancing dwarves and the elves and men awaiting them, his staff blazing in the gloom. "Dread has reached you all. The goblins and orcs are upon you, more swiftly than I had anticipated. Azog has come to exact revenge on the Line of Durin."

Everyone stopped, gazes drawn to the advancing army. Bilbo and Talaitha shared a frightened look. They knew all too well how devastating a partnership between the two vile races would be.

Gandalf strode towards the main camp. "Come! There is still time for council. Let Dáin, son of Náin, join us." He grasped Talaitha's shoulder. "See if you can tempt our stubborn dwarf to attend."

She hurried to the mountain, where Fili and Kili stood watch on the wall. They greeted her cheerfully, glad to see her.

"Tell your uncle to come outside," she shouted to them.

They obeyed her without hesitation, and a moment later, Thorin was stepping through the door. When he saw her, his expression brightened. Talaitha felt a flutter in her stomach at the happiness on his face.

"There's an army of goblins and orcs marching on us," she said. "We need you at the war council."

Thorin's gaze hardened. "I will not fight with men or elves."

"Dáin is there. You would also be fighting with dwarves."

"That is his business, not mine." Thorin walked towards her and reached for her hand. "Come back to me."

She moved away from him, regarding him sadly. "No, Thorin. You are a fool if you believe Erebor will remain unscathed. Azog comes for _you_."

"Let him come," the dwarf shrugged. But his eyes darkened at her rejection.

"Fine," she spat. "Allow others to die for you once again. I'm going to fight."

Before Thorin could react, Talaitha turned on her heel and sprinted back to the main camp. When she entered Bard's tent, Gandalf glanced at her, a silent question in his eyes. She shook her head. They would have to meet the enemy without Thorin and his Company.

The council went on for half an hour, but Talaitha barely listened. She knew she would be leading the archers with Legolas, and she heard and ignored Bard's insistence that she avoid hand-to-hand combat with the orcs and goblins.

The meeting was cut short when a soldier rushed inside. The wargs were close. In her mithril armor, with her bow in her hands, her quiver full of arrows, and Ezüstlélek hanging from her belt, Talaitha took up position atop the nearest hill that overlooked the valley into which the warg riders were descending. At Legolas' nod, she ordered her half of the archers to release a shower of arrows, smiling in grim satisfaction as nearly all of them hit their mark.

In between shots, Talaitha searched for Bilbo, but he was nowhere to be seen. She hoped he had slipped on the ring and found somewhere safe to hide, for he was still not very adept with his blade.

After a few more volleys, the enemy infantries were near enough for Esgaroth's spearmen to charge them. The yells from both sides and the clangs of metal on metal echoed in the valley, and Talaitha felt suddenly afraid. The orc and goblin troops seemed endless, stretching back far over the northern hill. For every creature the men and elves killed, two more took its place. The defenders were outnumbered.

She saw movement to her left, from the direction of Erebor, and her eyes widened. Clad in shining armor, wielding a huge ax and a dwarvish sword, stood Thorin, with his Company similarly bedecked behind him.

"To me, my kinsmen!" he shouted, his voice booming down the slope.

Dáin's dwarves flocked to him, following him to Bard and Thranduil, who were leading their respective warriors. Thorin spoke to each of them in turn, forming a truce. Grudges over gold and the Arkenstone temporarily fell away as a common foe united the three races.

Talaitha saw Thranduil nod in her direction and met Thorin's gaze, the dwarf's shoulders noticeably sagging in relief. He hurried to her, and when he reached her, he pulled her into a tight embrace.

"Forgive me for being such a foolish and stubborn, old dwarf." He kissed her hair, her forehead, the tip of her nose. "I should have come when you bade."

"You are here now, and that is what's important," she said, smiling warmly.

He returned her smile and looked down at her tenderly. "Truthfully, it was the thought of you out here fighting those creatures that forced aside my stupidity. I couldn't bear it if something happened to you."

"Something could still happen to me," she reasoned.

"No," replied Thorin. "Because once our forces start falling, you must lead the healers."

Talaitha opened her mouth to protest, but he kissed her lips, silencing her. "The injured will soon need you."

Thorin could not have known then the validity of his words.


	40. Remember Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh my _God_ the angst.

_I see fire, blood in the breeze. And I hope that you'll remember me._ -"I See Fire," Ed Sheeran

Talaitha and Thorin's reunion was interrupted by guttural shouts and the harsh bellowing of war horns. The first of the goblin and orc infantries had arrived. The allied dwarves, elves, and men stood firm against the onslaught, but they were nevertheless outmatched in number.

"Use your bow for as long as you can," Thorin said quickly, unsheathing his dwarven sword. "And before the fight reaches you, make for the healing tents."

Talaitha considered protesting, insisting that she could hold her own in battle, but she recognized that she was more useful off the battlefield, tending to the wounded. Even if she hadn't realized it on her own, it would have taken just one look at Thorin's soft, almost pleading gaze to crack her stubbornness. She would do as he requested.

"Be safe," she said, her throat tightening in fear for him.

He brought her hand to his lips, letting the kiss linger for as long as he dared.

"I shall return to you."

With a final, bittersweet smile, Thorin led his contingent of dwarves towards the enemy troops, while Talaitha rejoined the archers. She took her place beside Kili, keeping a sharp eye on Fili and Thorin, felling orc after orc with her arrows, until she was forced to unsheathe Ezüstlélek. As she cut down a goblin, she spied a man suffer a punishing blow to the back from an orc's mace and ran to him. Before the orc could kill the man, Talaitha sliced the back of his neck, partly severing the spinal cord, and pushed him aside to prevent him from falling on the injured human.

Two elves helped the man stumble into a healing tent, where Talaitha wasted no time in treating his wound. It was deep, and the mace had fractured his shoulder blade, but with rest and herbs to aid the healing process, he would mend well enough to use a blade again.

She moved onto the other injured soldiers, some of whom were beyond her help. The best she could do for them was to provide as painless a death as possible, and she tasked some of the elves with brewing analgesic tonics. Even so, the healing tents quickly filled with the sounds of agony and death.

Meanwhile, summoned by Gandalf, the giant eagles had arrived. The tide began to turn for the defenders. The birds swept up the goblins and orcs and dropped them over cliffs or into their army's ranks. Along with the eagles came Beorn, wielding a massive bow and spear. He dwarfed even the large Gundabad wargs, decimating them and their orc riders with ease.

Thorin whirled, taking out three goblins, and found himself face-to-face with his old nemesis. Azog smiled cruelly, as he dismounted from his white warg.

" _You are_ mine _, Oakenshield_ ," he spat in Black Speech. Thorin understood the tone if not the words.

"Come on, then," the dwarf growled and charged the white orc.

At the same time, Azog ran forward, his huge mace held aloft to strike. Thorin ducked and slashed, nicking the orc's thigh. He rolled aside as the mace came down, narrowly missing his head. Azog recovered quickly, but his strike did not hit its target, for Thorin had parried with his sword. The fight continued like that for a long while, neither inflicting serious injury on the other, until Thorin saw his opening.

Spurred on by his hatred and the need to avenge his father, grandfather, and slain kin, the dwarf feinted to the left, ensuring that the orc's right side remained unprotected. Azog tried to deflect the thrust but stumbled, as the blade of Thorin's sword was buried in his ribs. Thorin kicked Azog to his knees, and before the orc could raise his weapon, he beheaded him with a mighty roar. Black blood sprayed his face and clothes, but in his victory, Thorin was oblivious to it.

He was also oblivious to the orc that had crept up behind him.

"Uncle!" Fili cried.

Thorin turned towards the voice, but he wasn't quick enough to evade the orc's sword. He staggered backwards, gripping the crude blade that was now embedded in his abdomen. Wrenching it free with an agonized yell, he hurled it at the orc, killing it. But its comrades were closing in, and Thorin's vision was growing blurry and gray. He collapsed onto his knees and watched helplessly as Fili and Kili tried valiantly to defend him. But the goblins and orcs were too numerous.

His nephews, the lights of his life, fell.

A grief-stricken shout pierced through the sounds of battle, alerting a giant eagle flying by overhead. Despite excruciating pain, Thorin stumbled to Kili and killed the orc that had stabbed the younger dwarf. He sat down, resting Kili's head in his lap and stroking his hair like he used to do when Kili was a dwarfling. Fili laid beside his brother, a hand pressed to his bloody side, and Thorin pulled him into his lap, too. If they were to die, they would die together.

That was how Beorn found them, directed there by the passing eagle. For such a large, gruff man, the skin-changer carried them with surprising care to one of the healing tents.

"Take them to Talaitha," Thorin begged, his voice strained. "But do not tell her I have been injured. Let her tend to Fili and Kili first."

Beorn nodded gravely, knowing as well as Thorin that if he didn't receive the szelemér's unique healing gift, he would not survive the night. It was the dwarf's final act of love to sacrifice himself so that his nephews may live. The skin-changer respected that.

Thorin was left with an elvish healer, who stripped him of his tunic, armor, and undershirt to clean and treat his wounds. The one on his abdomen bled far too quickly, and though the healer worked tirelessly to staunch the flow, both dwarf and elf knew the attempts were futile.

"Thank you," said Thorin, as the elf bandaged his wounds.

The healer bowed his head and exited the tent, leaving Thorin alone with his pain and thoughts. He reflected on the quest, on his parting words to Bilbo and Gandalf, on Fili's and Kili's futures, and on Talaitha. If the enemy armies were defeated, he will have completed his goal. Fili would be king, and his people would once again thrive in Erebor. Bilbo would return home to the Shire, probably lamenting his empty pantry, and Gandalf would continue to wander Middle-earth, good-naturedly meddling in things the other wizards avoided. And Talaitha. She might resume her life as a traveling healer, or she might return to Nemere. He thought bittersweetly that she might marry and have children. She deserved that, a safe, happy life surrounded by people who loved her. He'd just hoped that such a life could have been possible with him.

How foolish he had been.

The battle raged on for hours, but eventually, the combined strength of the dwarves, elves, eagles, and men drove back the enemy's forces. With Azog dead, his offspring, Bolg, had assumed leadership, but after Legolas killed him, the orcs and goblins lost their mettle. They retreated, spurred on by Gandalf's blinding, white light.

And so the Battle of the Five Armies was won. The allied races rejoiced. Dwarves and elves bowed their heads in mutual respect, while the men cheered. There were many dead and injured on their side, too, but they were victorious.

Gandalf had forgotten about Bilbo during the chaos, but now, when the dead were being collected, fear gripped his heart like a vise. He searched for him, sending out scouts from all three races, but to no avail. The hobbit was nowhere to be found.

#

An hour later, Bilbo awoke, alone and still invisible, upon Ravenhill. His head hurt terribly, and he simply laid where he was, trying to remember what had happened. As the goblins advanced up the hill, he had become embroiled in the battle and was faring rather well, thanks to his ring. Then a large stone hurled by a Gundabad orc hit him in the head, and everything went black.

Now that he had accounted for the headache, Bilbo gingerly sat up. A scuffling noise startled him, and he groaned, his head throbbing in protest.

"Hello out there!" came a voice. A voice that belonged to neither goblin nor orc.

"I'm here!" cried Bilbo, pulling off his ring and standing.

A man came into view, laughing incredulously. "Why, it's you," he said, patting the hobbit's shoulder. "The wizard is looking for you."

"Gandalf?" Bilbo followed the man down the hill. "So he lives."

"Aye, as do Bard and the elf king and prince," the man replied. "We won the battle, you see."

"Well, that's a relief," breathed Bilbo. "So the enemy's gone, then?"

The man nodded, leading the hobbit into the camp. "Either killed or high-tailed it back to whence they came." He stopped in front of a large tent. "They're waiting inside."

Before Bilbo could ask _who_ was waiting, the flaps of the tent opened, revealing a grinning Gandalf.

"Hobbits are truly more resilient than I ever knew," the wizard remarked, with a twinkle in his eyes. "I am glad to see you, Bilbo Baggins, and another will be, too." His expression grew grave, and the hobbit feared that Talaitha had been injured. "Come, your presence is requested."

Inside the tent, Bilbo found a pale Thorin lying upon the bed. His weapons and rent armor laid on a table, and a blood-stained sheet rested on his chest. He opened his eyes when the hobbit entered.

"My heart is lightened to see you alive and well," said the dwarf, his voice quiet and hoarse. "I go now to the halls of waiting, to sit beside my fathers until the world is renewed. I wish to part in friendship and would take back my words and deeds on the wall."

"No," Bilbo gasped, shaking his head. Thorin tried to speak again, but the hobbit cut him off. "You don't have to die, Thorin. Talaitha can heal you." He looked at Gandalf frantically. "You must find her!"

The wizard glanced outside surreptitiously, the corners of his mouth lifting in a small smile. Bilbo understood.

"Talaitha has already healed Fili and Kili, and that is comfort enough for me," said the dwarf. "She does not know of my injuries." Bilbo opened his mouth to protest but was silenced by Thorin's raised, trembling hand. "Nor do I wish her to. Even if she could heal me, it would do neither of us any good. The gold sickness would eventually overwhelm me and destroy us all."

"You don't know that," the hobbit argued.

Thorin smiled softly at him. "There is more good in you than you realize, Bilbo Baggins, and courage and wisdom, too. I am sorry I was slow to see that."

His face contorted in pain, as his body was wracked with bloody coughs. Bilbo moved closer to wipe the blood away, meeting Thorin's gaze with wide, tearful eyes.

"Take care of her, my friend."

At that moment, Talaitha ran inside, the sleeves of her tunic rolled up to her elbows, her clothes and arms stained with blood.

"I came as quickly as I could," she panted, pushing past Bilbo. Already pale and unsteady, her face became sheet-white when she saw the severity of Thorin's condition.

Thorin reached for her hand and grasped it weakly. "I did not want you to see me like this."

"Hush, Thorin. You'll be fine." Talaitha drew back the sheet with her free hand, and her heart plummeted. From the sheer amount of blood, she knew the wound was fatal.

"I have seen healers already, and they could do little but apply bandages. You know as well as I that the damage is internal," he said gently, allowing her to trail her fingers over the bloodied wrappings around his abdomen.

"I am not like those healers," she reminded, her eyes filling with tears.

"I know," he said. Thorin smiled fondly and cupped her cheek. "My talented fairy." But raising his arm was too much, for he grimaced and coughed violently. His eyes fluttered shut, his breathing growing increasingly shallow and uneven.

"Thorin!" Talaitha cried, squeezing his hand. "Stay with me!"

His eyes opened a final time, the once-clear blue now clouded with pain and sadness.

"Remember me," he whispered.

Thorin's hand grew slack in hers, and his breathing stilled. Talaitha made a desperate sound as she placed one palm on his forehead and the other on his bare chest, summoning all her remaining energy. Her ability resisted, pushing back, but Talaitha gritted her teeth and broke through. An orb of yellow-white light, visible to everyone in and directly outside the tent, surrounded her and Thorin. This was the first time in centuries that anyone had witnessed such powerful, raw energy, and even Gandalf stood agape.

When the light faded, Talaitha groaned, and her legs buckled beneath her. Gandalf moved quickly to catch the szelemér's unconscious form, lifting her onto the bed beside Thorin's. Her skin was cool, much cooler than it should be after such a strenuous act.

But her efforts were not in vain, for although Thorin remained unconscious, his breathing evened out, his face regained some of its color, and the wound on his abdomen began to bleed less. Bilbo glanced from Talaitha to the dwarf in disbelief.

"What just happened?"

"She has healed him."

"But why is she like this?" Bilbo asked, touching Talaitha's forehead. It was cold and covered in a light sheen of sweat.

Gandalf sighed and leaned on his staff. "I suspect because she has overexerted herself."

Bilbo looked up at the wizard anxiously. "But she _will_ be all right, won't she?"

"I do not know," Gandalf replied gravely. "I have never before seen the full extent of her power."

The hobbit took Talaitha's hand, startled at how cold and clammy it was. "She's sweating. Does she have a fever?"

"No," said Gandalf. He spread a blanket over the szelemér's shivering body. "Her temperature has lowered, not risen."

"But it's not cold enough for that."

"It is for her. That bright light you saw was her energy. She gave Thorin so much of it that now her own body does not have enough." The wizard draped two more blankets over her.

Bilbo cheered slightly. "Then all we have to do is keep her warm." He laid his cloak atop the blankets.

But Gandalf appeared less certain.

"Let us hope it is that simple."


	41. Awakenings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People wake.

_And if I wake before I die, rescue me with your smile._ -"Buried Alive by Love" HIM

Throughout the next few days, Bilbo kept vigil over Talaitha, like he had in Lake Town, albeit without Thorin this time. The dwarf still hadn't regained consciousness, but the elvish healers reassured the Company that his condition improved with each day. Talaitha's, on the other hand, had plateaued, neither improving nor worsening. Nothing the healers forced down her throat had helped, and Bilbo was growing increasingly concerned.

"Talaitha once told me that Lord Elrond's healing ability is like hers," Bilbo said to Gandalf, who had joined the watch that morning. "Can we not send for him?"

"We could, but Imladris is over a month's ride from here," Gandalf replied pensively. "No, I fear if Talaitha is to recover, she must do so on her own."

Bilbo raised his eyebrows incredulously at the wizard. "If there's a chance that Elrond could help, we have to take it. She _saved_ the Line of Durin!"

"My dear hobbit, I would go to the ends of Middle-earth for that fairy," Gandalf placated. "But it would do no good. It is not only a heartbeat that is required for life. Her mind may be irreparably damaged by the time Elrond arrived."

Dejected, Bilbo turned his gaze back to Talaitha. "So what do we do?"

"We wait," Gandalf sighed. "And we trust in her."

#

The next day, Thorin awoke.

"Uncle!" cried Kili, moving to the king's bedside as quickly as his healing wound allowed. "How are you feeling?"

Thorin's grimace was answer enough, and the only word he managed to croak out was "water." Kili obliged, filling a goblet and helping his uncle sit up to drink. As Thorin laid back down, he caught a glimpse of the person lying on the neighboring bed.

"Talaitha," he breathed, jerking upright again. Every flex of his abdominal muscles was agony, but he gritted his teeth against the searing pain and stumbled to her bedside. Kili supported Thorin before he could fall, holding him gingerly around the waist.

"Why is she like this?" Thorin demanded, his voice still rough from disuse.

"Uncle, I think your stitches have reopened." There was a hint of concern in the young dwarf's tone, which penetrated Thorin's anxiety- and pain-filled haze. When he looked at Kili, he noticed that Fili was not with him. Panic surged in his chest.

"Where is your brother?"

"With Bilbo, getting us food." Kili knew what Thorin had thought. "He's fine, Uncle. He's better than you and Talaitha are."

Thorin turned towards the szelemér again, tender, blue eyes scanning her appearance. Paleness had given way to a sallow complexion, making the dark purple bruises under her eyes stand out in stark contrast. When he reached out to stroke her cheek, he nearly recoiled at how chilled her skin felt. Trembling fingers covered the pulse point on her neck, and he breathed a sigh of relief. She was alive, though she looked like a corpse.

"She's been this way ever since she healed us," Kili said softly. "Gandalf reckons she overexerted herself."

"How long?"

"Nearly a week, I think," Kili replied. "I've only been out of bed for a couple days, but Bilbo and Gandalf have been with you two the entire time."

Fear and guilt gripped Thorin's heart as he gazed down upon Talaitha, emotion rising like bile in his throat.

"Kili, lad, help your brother with the food."

The young dwarf furrowed his eyebrows, then understood his uncle's unspoken request. He squeezed Thorin's shoulder and said, "I'll be back."

When Thorin was certain Kili had gone, he collapsed against Talaitha's bed and wept. Memories of the battle flashed through his mind in vivid detail, stealing his breath. The triumph he'd felt after finally killing Azog and avenging his family. The white hot pain, as the orc's sword pierced his gut. The heartbreaking hopelessness of watching his nephews fall defending him, of pulling their broken bodies into his lap. The sense of peace when he atoned for his sins and saw Talaitha for the last time, before death's cold grip embraced him.

The overwhelming joy, as he awoke and learned his nephews had survived.

He should have died that day, for his death had been the bargain for Fili's and Kili's lives. But he had lived, and the reason he had was now lying unconscious beneath a pile of blankets, barely breathing and cold as the grave. Talaitha had somehow brought him back from the abyss, yet he could do naught but watch her waste away.

A tear slid down his cheek and splashed onto her neck. Then another. Thorin couldn't stop them, even if he wanted to. He took her hand, rubbing it between his, desperately trying to infuse a bit of warmth into her. She shifted towards him, as if seeking his presence, and he moved his hands up her arm, caressed her cheek, and kissed her lips.

And nearly jumped back when she moaned softly.

"Talaitha?"

Her head lolled to the side, and her eyes opened slowly, blinking against the minimal daylight that filtered in through the flaps of the tent.

"Talaitha!" he rejoiced, leaning forward to cup her cheeks.

"Thorin?" She coughed violently.

He poured her a goblet of water, supporting her as she drank greedily. Thorin refilled the cup until her thirst was quenched and helped her sit, ignoring the sharp pain in his abdomen. His bandages were bloody by now, but he didn't care.

Talaitha, however, did.

"Fool of a dwarf," she muttered, trailing her fingers over his belly.

Thorin grinned. "You may scold me all you like, as long as I can hear your voice."

"I didn't heal you so that you could bleed out later." She leaned against his chest, careful not to touch his wound.

"I am fine, Talaitha," he assured, kissing the top of her head. "I am more concerned about you."

A nervous flutter filled her stomach. "You need not be. I am clearly alive."

"Yes, and I am grateful for that," said Thorin. He pulled away just enough to look at her sternly. "But until a few minutes ago, you looked and felt more dead than alive."

"I was exhausted. That is all."

"That is _not_ all," he said firmly. "I have seen you heal before and never have you fallen ill from it."

Talaitha rolled her eyes. "You weren't even conscious when I healed you."

"No, but others were, and they were concerned enough to watch over you at all hours."

She cringed, mentally berating herself for her weakness, and searched desperately for a believable explanation.

"I didn't fall ill, Thorin. I was merely exhausted from the battle and the healing I did. I just needed rest." She smiled up at him. "See? I am quite well now."

He watched her, looking for any sign of pain or malaise. Her pulse had returned to normal, and although she still appeared exhausted, at least her skin had warmed in both color and temperature. Thorin saw nothing that indicated illness.

"You cannot know how thankful I am for that," he whispered, burying his nose in her curls. "If you had injured yourself in the battle or while healing my nephews and me, I-" He broke off, his chest suddenly tight.

"I promise I'm fine," she replied softly, snuggling into his bare chest and stroking the hair there. "You, on the other hand, need new stitches and bandages."

He smiled into her hair. "Aye, but they can wait."


	42. Alliances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin forges unlikely friendships and shows a vulnerable side.

While Thorin had been unconscious, everything had come to a standstill. Bard's, Thranduil's, Dáin's, and the Company's next actions were dependent upon the dwarf king, and now that he was awake, the affected parties crowded the tent, much to his displeasure. He'd only been allowed one hour with Talaitha, before the world had decided to intervene again.

Dáin's dwarves were the first to be dealt with, for they couldn't remain here indefinitely.

"Cousin, go to Erebor and take a share of the treasure," instructed Thorin. He arched an amused brow at his Company's shocked and bewildered expressions. "You, as well, Bard. As Lord Girion's descendent, you are entitled to that which Smaug stole from Dale."

Bard's eyes widened, but he overcame his disbelief quickly, standing before Thorin and bowing his head.

"I thank you, Thorin Oakenshield. The riches shall be used to rebuild Dale and Lake Town so that our two people may once again be allies." He turned to one of his men, who handed him a brilliant jewel. "As I promised, I now return the Arkenstone."

Talaitha watched Thorin uneasily, expecting to see that all-too-familiar gleam in his eyes. But as he took the jewel, all she saw was gratitude. She breathed a sigh of relief, struggling to conceal the powerful emotions that washed over her. The gold sickness was gone.

"My kin are fortunate to count the dragon-slayer as an ally," Thorin said, inclining his head. Now his gaze sought out the unlikeliest member of the crowd. "Elvenking, come forth."

Thranduil's reaction was as incredible as the request. His brows rose in surprise, an emotion he hadn't felt in centuries. When he caught his son's gaze, he quickly brushed it aside and did as Thorin bade, regarding the dwarf coolly. Talaitha smiled, her dislike for the elf momentarily abating at the slip of his stoic mask.

"Long ago, I watched my grandfather withhold from you something sacred to your people," Thorin said solemnly. "I shall not make that same mistake."

"Then you are already a more worthy King under the Mountain," Thranduil remarked, with a slight bow of his head.

And it was true. Dressed in simple clothes, face marred by cuts and bruises, and with a healing wound on his abdomen, Thorin had never before possessed so regal a bearing as he did now. Even without a crown, he was king. Talaitha was overwhelmed with pride and a sudden urge to embrace him, but she contented herself with flashing him a bright smile.

A smile that he briefly returned, before growing serious again. "If you consent, a new alliance between our people shall be forged."

"I consent," Thranduil said. Beside him, Legolas' lips upturned into the barest hint of a smile.

After agreeing with Bard and Thranduil to sign the necessary treaties tonight, Thorin turned towards Gandalf. "Since we are all gathered here, tell us what you have learned during your absence."

The wizard told them of the broken and empty graves in Rhudaur and that only the most powerful magic could break the sealant spells upon them. Just a few in Middle-earth possessed such magic, but none of them would ever use it for so fell a purpose. None who were currently alive, at least.

"You believe it to be the work of Sauron?" Thorin asked.

"Yes," replied Gandalf. "Though his power is still fledging, it nevertheless influenced much of what has occurred lately. Those trolls you encountered would not have traveled so far south. The goblins may not have been so keen to seek vengeance upon us for killing their leader. They and their orc allies would not have arrived here with a dark cloud above them, shielding them from the sun."

Thranduil, with his mouth drawn in a grim line, confirmed Gandalf's theory. "Only one being I know of has that ability. Sauron surely intended to use the dragon in another attempt to conquer Middle-earth."

Gandalf nodded. "Radagast and I assumed as much and sought out the Necromancer he had encountered in Dol Guldur, but it was gone."

"What do we do then?" asked Legolas.

"There is little we _can_ do," his father replied. "We cannot stop that which we cannot find."

"I fear Thranduil is correct," said Gandalf. "We must wait for Sauron, or the 'Necromancer', to show himself again."

"And will he?" asked Bilbo, a flash of fear crossing his face.

"In time," Thranduil replied.

"But Sauron cannot regain his full strength without the One Ring, which was lost after Isildur cut it from the Dark Lord's finger." Gandalf placed a comforting hand on the hobbit's shoulder. "It will probably not occur in your lifetime."

Bilbo smiled slightly, not wholly reassured. He thought of the magic ring in his pocket and considered showing it to the wizard, then inexplicably decided that that was the worst thing he could do. He just hoped none of the Company would mention it to Gandalf.

"We will nevertheless remain vigilant," said Thorin, receiving affirmative nods from Bard, Dáin, and Thranduil.

That signaled the end of the conference, and none too soon, for Thorin was impatient to return to Erebor and to his kin. He gathered his armor and weapons, wincing as his belt brushed against the stitches on his abdomen. When Talaitha had collected her gear, he held out a hand to her, and together they made their way back to the mountain.

During the walk, they talked. It seemed like weeks since they'd had a proper conversation, one that didn't involve gold sickness or dragons. Talaitha reveled in the simple pleasure, leaning into Thorin's side, as he snaked an arm around her waist and drew her close.

It was then that she remembered something puzzling.

"Why were we in Bard's tent and not in the healing tents?"

"I was taken there at first, but they moved me to Bard's tent when they realized my injuries were fatal," Thorin replied. "And since you fainted after you healed me, they just laid you beside me, I suppose."

"They should have sent for me sooner," she murmured. Only the flash of her eyes indicated her anger. "You were so far gone that I could barely reach you."

Thorin stopped and turned to her, regarding her with kindness. But she would not meet his gaze. He placed a finger under her chin to gently lift it. "I promised Dis that I would look after Fili and Kili. Their lives will always be more important than mine, which is why I needed you to heal them first."

"But once I had, I should have come immediately to you," she insisted emphatically. "If...If that elf hadn't found me when he did, you would be dead."

"Then Fili would have been king and you would not have exhausted yourself so."

"For Eru's sake, Thorin!" she cried, wrenching away from him. "Don't you realize what your death would have done to your nephews, to your sister... To me?"

Thorin smiled tenderly at her. "I am sure they would have grieved for me, but I would have died happily knowing that they would live and call Erebor home. And as for you." He looked slightly pained. "You would have continued on as before, bringing your gifts to those in need."

"But that's just it. I _couldn't_ have gone on as before," she said, tears welling in her eyes. "I would have lived with the guilt of not being able to save you." Talaitha looked up at him and traced a new scar on his cheek. "You have changed my life irrevocably, Thorin Oakenshield."

"Forgive me, my fairy," he whispered, chest tightening with emotion as he wiped away her tears.

Tears she cried _for him_.

He fell to his knees in front of her, wrapping his arms tightly around her midsection and laying his head against her belly. In the throes of his gold sickness, he'd failed to notice just how much she had cared about him. He felt a wave of self-loathing wash over him. Talaitha had remained by his side even when doing so had become dangerous and foolish. She had understood the cause of his actions and had never blamed him for them, yet she also hadn't coddled or feared him. Now that Thorin was mentally well again, memories of his unforgivable behavior, not only towards Talaitha but towards his friends, as well, came rushing back. He swallowed a sob, but he couldn't prevent his body from shuddering with the force of it.

Talaitha's breath hitched when his arms went around her middle, her heart hurting for him as his long-suppressed emotions finally surged forth. Carding her fingers through his hair, she allowed him his catharsis, knowing it was both inevitable and necessary. Even a dwarf as strong as Thorin Oakenshield would be affected by the things he had experienced recently. She knew better than anyone the damage the gold sickness had wrought upon his mind, and she also knew that he'd stared death in the face less than a week ago. He may have been rationalizing his sudden breakdown in terms of remorse, but the events of the battle weighed just as heavily upon his heart and mind.

When he had regained control of himself, he stood, unable to meet Talaitha's gaze for fear of seeing his shame reflected in it. But she smiled and took his hand, as though he hadn't just cried into her belly.

"Come, my dwarf. Your people await."

Walking through the doors, Thorin was met with the exuberance of his Company. Talaitha moved off to the side, observing with a fond smile as Fili and Kili embraced their uncle, joy and relief visible on all three of their faces. It warmed Talaitha's heart that they could finally be a proper family again, without threat and uncertainty looming over their heads.

Bilbo extricated himself from the dwarves and stood beside Talaitha. "He seems different, doesn't he?"

Talaitha shifted her attention from Thorin, who was now clasping hands with Dwalin, to her friend. She furrowed her eyebrows in question.

"The gold sickness, I think it's gone," the hobbit clarified.

"Oh, that," said Talaitha. "Yes, it is gone."

"Is it because he nearly died?" Bilbo asked. "Or because of how your healing ability works?"

Talaitha shrugged, glancing back up at Thorin. He was grinning, and for the first time since she had known him, he appeared truly unburdened.

"I don't know," she replied. "It could be either, or both. Where's Gandalf? Maybe he'll know."

"I thought Gandalf was with you at that conference," said Bilbo. "Though I suppose it would be just like him to disappear without telling anyone."

"Indeed," she giggled. "He _was_ at the meeting, but I just assumed he had beaten us here. We took a rather long time to arrive."

"I don't even want to know," Bilbo muttered, earning himself a playful shove.

Talaitha smirked. "And I thought hobbits were respectable."

"We _are,_ " Bilbo agreed. "But I'm not that respectable anymore. It was inevitable, I guess, what with sharing meals and sleeping areas with dwarves for a year."

"Dear Bilbo," she said fondly. "You ceased being a respectable hobbit the moment you entertained thoughts of this adventure."

Bilbo grumbled good-naturedly, trying to keep a smile off his face. "Hush, you."

Before she could respond, Thorin appeared in front of her and took her hand to lead her towards the dwarves. Kili launched himself at her, throwing his arms around her neck, but grunted when his injured muscles twinged.

"Without you, my nephews and I would not be here today to celebrate our victory," Thorin said solemnly. "We and the countless others you healed owe you our lives."

"It's true," said Fili, pulling his brother off Talaitha. Always the more reserved of the two, he took her hand and kissed it, bowing his golden head in thanks.

Talaitha felt her cheeks grow hot, and she nervously played with a loose string at the hem of her tunic. She had never accepted gratitude very gracefully, which was ironic, since she was a traveling healer.

"I was merely doing my duty," she replied and smiled. "As your uncle very adamantly insisted."

"And I was right to," said Thorin, grinning at her. "You are a skilled warrioress, but an even more skilled healer."

"Aye, lassie," Óin agreed.

"I thank you," she said, forcing herself to meet their gazes. "But let us now forget such thoughts and focus instead on celebrating our victory, as Thorin said. After all, if we are to have a proper feast, we must prepare."

The dwarves cheered and began divvying up the various tasks. Fili, Kili, and Nori would hunt, while Bilbo and Talaitha gathered fruits and vegetables. Bifur, Bofur, and Dwalin would set up the tables in the main entrance hall, enough to seat some of Dáin's dwarves, Bard's men, and Thranduil's elves, too. Ori and Dori were in charge of setting the tables with the plates and cutlery they had found in Erebor's dining rooms, and Glóin and Óin would keep the fires going. As the most diplomatic member of the Company, Balin would inform the other races of the feast, while Bombur, aided by Bilbo and Talaitha, would cook. Finally, Thorin would prepare the payments and peace treaties, as he felt that was the only way to begin rectifying his misdeeds.

Before Talaitha and Thorin parted, he pulled her as near to him as he dared to in public.

"I don't know how to thank you for what you have done," he said, holding her hands in his. "But after the preparations are finished, come to my chambers. You remember where they are, do you not?"

She nodded, her heartbeat quickening at the hint of desire in his eyes.

"I do."

"Good," he whispered. Squeezing her hands, Thorin released them with a smile, then turned and walked deeper into the mountain. Talaitha stood still, watching his broad, retreating back until she heard a faint cough from behind her.

"Ready?" asked Bilbo, handing her a basket.

"Ready," she replied and hooked the basket onto her arm.

No matter what the future brought, today Talaitha was happy.


	43. Second Chances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pure and shameless smut. I'm sorry. Or, you're welcome?

With the other races chipping in, the preparations for the feast were finished much more quickly than Talaitha had expected. Women from Lake Town had gathered, peeled, and chopped vegetables, while the men had helped set up the hearths in the largest kitchen. Elves had brought back deer and wild fowl, supplementing the game Fíli, Kíli, and Nori had caught. And Bilbo had dashed about the kitchen, seasoning the cooking food with little satchels of herbs and spices.

Now that most of the work was done, Talaitha retreated from the organized chaos. Before she climbed the stairs, she glanced around the room and couldn't help but grin at the sheer diversity of races, sexes, and ages that had collected in Erebor's grand entrance hall. Pre-battle tensions, it seemed, had been forgotten in victory.

Torch in hand, Talaitha made her way deeper and higher into the mountain, to a familiar hallway. She opened the door and found Thorin sitting at his desk, quill scratching against parchment. His brows were drawn in concentration, but as Talaitha entered, he looked up from the treaty. His gaze brightened when it settled on her.

"My thoughts have been filled with vengeance for so long that I fear I am out of practice writing peace agreements," Thorin said, with a sheepish smile.

Talaitha walked to his desk and kissed his cheek, then picked up the paper. "May I read it?"

He nodded, absently stroking her bare forearm, which erupted in gooseflesh at his touch. The corners of her mouth twitched, as Thorin trailed his fingers up her arm, over her shoulder, and along her neck.

"Stop it," she admonished, giggling and swatting his shoulder with the parchment.

He laughed but removed his hand. "Apologies. Read on."

She turned her attention back to the treaty, and when she had reached the end, she handed it back to him with a wry smile. "I understand why you're having difficulty with this one."

"I am trying to overcome my animosity towards Thranduil, but I doubt I shall ever like the elf."

"He _is_ less pleasant than his son," Talaitha acceded. "But you must sound like you genuinely want an alliance with Thranduil." She pointed to a paragraph halfway down the page. "This part sounds too stiff."

Thorin smirked and caught her hand before it could return to her side. "That is now the second time you have called me stiff."

"And it shan't be the last, I imagine," she said, suppressing a grin.

"I'm intrigued," he murmured. His eyes darkened, and Talaitha's heartbeat quickened. "When will the next occasion be?"

"I don't know," she replied and set aside the treaty to wrap her arms around his neck. "But it will certainly not be in relation to Thranduil."

"I should hope not." Thorin looked down at her with a crooked smile. "For the horrifying images you have planted in my mind, I deserve recompense."

"I can help you finish that treaty."

"I was thinking of something more...physical," he purred, moving her hair aside to kiss her neck.

His warm breath on her skin sent a shiver down her spine, and she tilted her head to grant him easier access. While his lips were on her neck, his hands worked open the laces of her tunic, exposing her cleavage to his eager eyes. She tugged at the hem of his own tunic, and he pulled it off, wincing when the motion caused the skin held by his stitches to stretch uncomfortably.

"These were the hardest stitches I've ever had to sew," Talaitha said softly. Trembling fingers brushed his healing wound.

He stroked her cheek and smiled down at her. "Then I will take care not to open them again."

"See that you do."

Talaitha stepped back and slowly undressed, only breaking eye contact with Thorin to slip her tunic over her head. He watched as more and more of her pale flesh was bared to him, his breeches growing tighter with each article of clothing she shed, until she was completely naked. Dark eyes roved hungrily over her form, over pert breasts and shapely curves. He couldn't take his gaze off her as she walked towards him, hips swaying and muscles flexing beneath soft skin. She was delicate and feminine, yet she possessed a hidden strength. This was not the first time Thorin had seen her naked, but then he had been so deep in the gold lust that he'd been blind to her.

A shadow must have crossed his face as he remembered how roughly he had taken her that night, for she cupped his cheek and gave him a half-smile.

"It will be different this time."

Thorin kissed her, then, wrapping his arms around her to hold her as close as possible. A warmth suffused his heart, like it had when she'd healed him, but her hands were clasped around his neck. If she wasn't doing it, then what was?

But he didn't have very long to ponder it, because when her tongue stroked against his, that and every other thought fled his mind.

Without breaking their kiss, Thorin walked Talaitha towards the bed, stopping when the backs of her knees touched the edge. She untied the laces of his breeches and pulled away to watch him step out of them. Holding his gaze, she sank to her knees and wrapped a hand around his erection, placing her other hand on his muscular thigh to steady herself. He was gloriously thick and long and hot.

Thorin's breath hitched when her tongue licked along the underside of his length and circled the head, her saliva mixing with the bit of fluid already forming at the tip. He groaned when her mouth closed around him, that talented tongue continuing its slow torture and her cheeks hollowing to suck gently. Thorin couldn't help it; his hands fisted into her hair, but he resisted the urge to thrust. Heat pooled at the base of his spine, threatening to spill over.

"Stop," he commanded, voice deep and rough.

Curious eyes looked up at him, as he slipped from her mouth and she stood.

"If you continue, I will spend myself sooner than I wish." He guided her onto the bed, unable to wrench his gaze away as she scooted up towards the pillows. "And I wish to spend myself _in_ you."

Talaitha's pupils dilated at that, and she beckoned him to her. Kicking off his boots, Thorin obeyed, ignoring the twinge in his abdomen when he hovered above her to kiss her. His hands cupped her breasts, kneading them, then moved down her belly to the apex of her thighs. Her legs spread, and he began his exploration. Fingers parted her labia to stroke her vagina, the wetness he found there making his erection throb almost painfully.

His mouth latched onto her right breast, tongue teasing the nipple before he suckled it, pulling a soft moan from her lips. His thumb rubbed circles on her clit, while he slowly pushed a finger inside her. Talaitha's breath hitched, and he nearly groaned at how tightly she clenched around his finger. If she felt this good now, what would she feel like around his cock? He _did_ groan at that.

He thrust into her, alternating the angle, until her gasp told him he'd found that special bundle of nerves. Slipping two more fingers inside, Thorin stilled his motions.

"The last time I was denied proper foreplay," she reminded him, frowning. "Don't deny me it tonight."

Thorin laughed against her belly, his beard scratching lightly as he moved downwards. His mouth hovered over her core, warm breath ghosting over it.

"I don't intend to."

And before she could reply, he resumed thrusting his fingers into her and replaced his thumb on her clit with his mouth. She tasted sweet and tangy, her scent making his head spin and his erection grow impossibly harder. Talaitha's thighs spread wider to better accommodate his broad shoulders, while her hands tangled in his hair.

As he licked and sucked, she bucked against him, her quiet breaths steadily becoming not-so-quiet moans. Pressure built within her, and with a final, hard suck on her clit, she tensed and fell over the edge with a soft cry. Thorin eased up on her sensitive flesh and only pulled his fingers free when her shudders had ceased.

"Have I amended my prior negligence?" he asked and kissed a path up to her lips.

"Mmm, I believe you have," Talaitha replied, nipping his bottom lip. "Now it's my turn to sate _you_."

She pushed him gently onto his back and straddled his hips, smiling down at him. "So that your stitches don't tear."

"A benefit, to be sure," he said, gaze trailing over her breasts. "But the exquisite view trumps it."

She laughed. "Who knew that beneath so surly an exterior resided such a honey-tongued charmer."

"Well, I'm certainly not going to attempt to charm Dwalin or Bofur, now am I," he quipped. "I had little reason to charm anyone before I met you."

Talaitha stroked his cheek, her fingers lingering on a bruise. Thorin was pained by the sadness he saw in her eyes.

"What's wrong, my fairy?"

"It hurts me that you've denied yourself happiness."

He sighed, pulling her down onto his chest. She shifted her weight so that she wouldn't press against his wound.

"For the longest time, I felt that I didn't deserve happiness. I took on my people's grief and loss along with my own, because I felt like I should have been able to prevent that horror." He smiled and craned his neck to kiss the tip of her nose. "And then I met you, this headstrong, kind woman who was far too loyal to the hobbit. I didn't understand the friendship, and I didn't understand you. But when I saw you asleep in that ridiculous armchair, I felt something that I had not felt since Riva."

He looked her in the eyes. "I get a second chance with you, a second chance at happiness."

"Then let's not waste it," she said, voice low and full of affection.

Talaitha's hand wrapped around his length, which had softened slightly during their talk, but it only took a few strokes for it to be hard and rigid again. Kneeling above him, she guided his erection to her opening, the head easily slipping inside. He groaned when her tight heat enveloped him, and she echoed with a sharp gasp as he stretched her open. She lowered herself onto him slowly, until he was completely sheathed inside her.

His hands instinctively gripped her hips when she rolled them to grind against his pelvis. Then she lifted up onto her knees and sank back down, pulling matching groans from both of them. Talaitha leaned forward to hold onto the headboard, changing the angle of penetration so that his length hit her bundle of nerves with every stroke.

Because of his wound, he couldn't thrust up against her without pain, so he used his hands on her hips to help her motions. As she rode him, her breasts bounced enticingly, making him grow and throb within her. She clenched around him, and he groaned, pulling her down hard and wrenching a moan from her lips. With her clit rubbing against his pubic bone and his length stroking her from within, Talaitha felt her release building.

Thorin noticed the change in her breathing and moved a hand off her hip to cup one of her breasts. That was all it took. Talaitha arched her back and cried out, clenching erratically around him as her orgasm washed over her. Seconds later, he, too, reached his peak. He groaned hoarsely and bucked his hips once, twice, spilling his seed deep inside her.

Limp and sated, Talaitha collapsed onto him, narrowly avoiding the wound on his belly. Thorin wrapped his arms around her, burying his nose in her hair as their heartbeats thudded quickly and loudly.

"Are your stitches intact?" she mumbled, her breath ruffling his chest hair.

He smiled. Ever the healer.

"They are."

"Thank the Valar," she said tiredly.

When he'd softened and slipped out of her, she moved off him to lie on her side, reaching a hand back to grasp his. He pulled the covers over them and wrapped an arm around her middle, molding his body to hers. The feast was the last thing on their minds as they drifted to sleep, Talaitha safe and warm in his embrace and Thorin happier than he'd felt in a long, long time.


	44. Effeminate Elves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-coital cuteness and alliances reforged. 
> 
> This chapter contains a scene reminiscent of the scene in the _AUJ Extended Edition_ in which Kíli mistakes a male elf for a female elf in Rivendell. I hadn't seen the extended scene when I wrote the Rivendell chapter(s), but I liked it so much that I created my own version of it.

It was hours later when they finally awoke to a loud thumping on the door.

"The feast!" whispered Talaitha, sitting up in alarm. She nearly elbowed Thorin in the face as he sat up, too.

The covers fell, exposing her breasts to the cool air. Thorin felt himself stir at the sight of them, but he managed to tear his gaze away long enough to pull on his breeches and pad to the door, grumbling in Khuzdul the whole way. Before he opened it, he glanced back at Talaitha to make sure she had covered herself. He quickly regretted that action. Holding the sheets to her chest, with her copper hair tousled, Talaitha was an enticing vision. Thorin bit back a groan, his fingers itching to touch her again.

Another _bang_ on the door jolted him from his lustful daydream, and he finally wrenched it open, scowling. Dwalin stood on the other side, an impatient expression on his face. But when he saw Thorin's half-naked, somewhat disheveled state, his irritation morphed into awkward comprehension.

"Balin sent me to get you," said Dwalin. He resisted the urge to peek into the room. "The feast is about to begin."

"Tell him we'll be down soon."

"Right," the warrior murmured, clearing his throat. "I'll, uh, see you down there, then."

"You will." Thorin's eyes sparkled with amusement, particularly when he closed the door and heard Talaitha's giggles. Eager to rejoin her, he stepped out of his breeches and carelessly kicked them aside.

"Poor Dwalin," she said, holding up the covers to allow Thorin back into bed.

He snaked an arm around her waist to pull her to him and leant back against the headboard, idly stroking her bare arm. She was sat between his bent legs, his semi-hard length resting teasingly against her backside.

"He has survived battles, he can survive this," Thorin quipped and brushed her hair to one side to kiss her neck. Now that he had tasted her, he couldn't get enough. His tongue joined his lips, as he sucked gently at the slope between her neck and shoulder.

Talaitha's eyes fluttered shut. She tipped her head back onto his shoulder, hands rubbing his muscular thighs.

"Thorin, we need to dress and go down," she said haltingly. Her tongue darted out to wet her lips. "And you still need to finish Thranduil's treaty."

He nipped her earlobe and replied in a low voice that sent a shiver up her spine, "Do not speak of that elf when we are naked together."

"Or you'll do what?" she asked, bringing an arm up behind her to wrap around his neck.

"Or I'll ensure that you cannot think of anyone else while you are with me." He licked the tip of a pointed ear, enjoying the quiver that passed through her. So her ear tips were especially sensitive. He would remember that.

"Hush, you," she admonished, though it was half-hearted. "But really, Thorin, we need to join the others. It would be a fine start to your rule if you skipped the signing of the peace agreements."

"Very well," he sighed, his warm breath ghosting across her nape. Thorin scooted to the edge of the bed, taking Talaitha with him. She stood first and afforded him a tantalizing view of her backside, as she bent to pick up her clothing.

He watched her dress for an instant, before he pulled on his own clothes and sat down at the desk, glaring at the treaty. When Talaitha had finished combing through her curls, she moved behind him and began working on his hair. Thorin's hand jerked slightly, the quill scratching errantly against the parchment, at the feel of her gentle hands on his scalp. But he forced his attention back to his task, for the sooner they went downstairs, the sooner they could return to bed.

#

Thorin and Talaitha had entered the Great Hall arm-in-arm but soon parted, Thorin to speak to Gandalf, who had mysteriously reappeared again, and Talaitha to join Legolas outside. The elf was gazing into the distance at the ruins of Dale, a pensive expression on his face. When he heard her approach, however, his cerulean eyes warmed.

"You are late to your own celebration," he observed, standing with his hands behind his back.

"It's _our_ celebration," Talaitha replied firmly. "The goblins and orcs couldn't have been defeated without all these races coming together."

"True," said Legolas. "But if you had not saved Thorin Oakenshield and his nephews, we may now be at the mercy of Dáin."

She raised her eyebrows. "And that would have been so bad?"

"I cannot say I am overly fond of Thorin, but before Smaug attacked, he was more rational than either his father or grandfather. I am not well-acquainted with Dáin, but I believe Thorin is more agreeable than he is, as well."

"More loyal, too, I'd say," Talaitha said bitterly. "Dáin didn't come to Erebor to offer Thorin his assistance. He came for gold."

Legolas' lips twitched into the hint of a smirk. "Dwarves, _mellonin_. I _did_ warn you."

"They're not all like that, though. Look at the twelve who accompanied Thorin on the quest. They stood by his side, even after the gold sickness took hold." She sighed and rubbed her arms, as a chill wind blew. "If that's not loyalty, I don't know what is."

"And you?" the elf asked.

"What about me?"

"Are you loyal to him?" The question appeared simple on the surface, but Talaitha's stomach knotted.

"He forced me to choose between him and Bilbo. I had to leave him, because I couldn't leave Bilbo," she defended. "But I healed him, didn't I?"

Legolas frowned. "Aye, and at great cost."

"You don't know that. Those stories contain more legend than truth."

"Nevertheless, you cannot be certain you will not be affected."

"We shall see," Talaitha replied, ending the discussion. "Let's go inside. It's cold."

Legolas followed her into the Great Hall, which was packed with people of all three races, drinking ale and wine from mismatched vessels scrounged up at the last minute. Talaitha tasted Thorin's red wine and grimaced. The nearly 200-year-old vintage was too dry and too strong. She smiled gratefully when Thorin brought her a goblet of water instead. Her stomach growled, but before they could begin the feast, there were diplomatic matters to be settled.

Thorin saw that Bard, Dáin, and Thranduil had arrived. He beckoned Balin and Dwalin forward, each of whom bore a large chest full of gold coins and jewels. Thorin thumped the handle of a knife against the wooden table to get his guests' attention. The room quieted, and the three leaders stepped forward.

"Bard the Bowman, I offer this as payment for Lake Town's assistance in defeating Smaug and the orc army," said Thorin, motioning towards the chest Balin held. Bard nodded to one of his men to take it. "And with this treaty, may our people once again be allies." He picked up the quill and signed the parchment.

"It shall be done," said Bard, signing his name, as well.

Next came Dáin, who looked abashed when he accepted the chest of gold from Dwalin. "I fear I was wrong not to offer you assistance, Cousin."

A shadow briefly flickered across Thorin's face, but then he clasped Dáin's shoulder and shook his head. "Think on it no further, for it is in the past."

The final exchange was possibly the most important and tenuous. The air changed and filled with a nervous energy, as Thranduil stood in front of Thorin. Elf and dwarf regarded one other impassively, before Thorin opened the small chest he held.

White jewels glittered inside, their brilliance reflected in Thranduil's cold, blue eyes that now glimmered faintly with a peculiar emotion. It was gratitude, Talaitha realized. But when he looked at the dwarf again, he was once more aloof. Thorin had seen, though, and it was enough.

They silently signed the agreement. The tension dissipated, and a sense of hope that the three kingdoms could co-exist in peace permeated the Great Hall. As the feast began, Thorin felt a lightening of his spirit and looked down at his fingers intertwined with Talaitha's. He had fought for so long to redeem himself and his people that he was unsure how to proceed now that he had. But when Talaitha smiled up at him, his next course of action became suddenly clear. He would _enjoy_ the hard-won fruits of his labors.

With that new mindset, Thorin allowed Talaitha to lead him to two empty seats between Kíli and Bilbo. He watched her scoop roasted root vegetables onto her plate, then helped himself to the various dishes of food spread along the table. And while they ate, Thorin kept a hand lightly on her thigh.

From the dwarves' and men's raucous laughter, one would never have known that just days ago, they had nearly gone to war against each other, to be saved only by a common enemy. The woodland elves were less amicable with the dwarves, but even amongst them, there were those who brokered a hesitant acquaintanceship over wine.

Kíli was staring thoughtfully at an elf from a neighboring table.

"Their men look like their women," he remarked.

Dwalin regarded the young dwarf with an arched brow and a hint of amusement in his eyes. He had seen Kíli's attention wander over to the elf multiple times that night.

"You thought he was female, didn't you," Dwalin deduced flatly.

"No, of course not!" Kíli blurted. "I mean...," He trailed off, shifting self-consciously in his chair. "Well, they _do_ look effeminate!"

His nephew's exclamation drew Thorin's attention, and when Talaitha felt his hand move on her thigh, hers, too. In fact, the entire table now watched Kíli with interest.

"Who looks effeminate?" asked Ori, biting into a haunch of venison.

"Elf males, apparently," Nori answered.

"Kíli," said Fíli, shaking his head. "Don't tell me you fancy elves."

The youngest Durin looked horrified and replied with wide eyes, "I _don't_ fancy them!"

"It'd make sense if you did, though," Bofur mused. "You're near as good a shot as they are."

"There's nothing to be ashamed of, laddie. We all have different tastes," teased Glóin. "Óin likes to drizzle honey over his meat, and you like male elves. To each his own."

Kíli's head fell to the table, his forehead striking the wood with a dull _thud_. "For Mahal's sake, I don't like _any_ elves, male _or_ female." Then, after a slight pause, "And I don't like honey on my meat, either. I was only commenting that one of those male elves looks female."

The defense did little to deter the dwarves' mirth. Even Talaitha struggled to suppress her giggles, as she leaned across Thorin's lap to rub Kíli's shoulder.

"If it's any consolation, he _does_ look more female than most human women do."

Kíli's head rose from the table, and he smiled at Talaitha. "You're the only one I like right now." He looked at Thorin, perhaps expecting him to silence the others, as he had done so often in the past. But his uncle was smirking into his wine goblet. "Definitely the only one."

Later that night, Thorin and Talaitha sneaked away from the celebration, though they needn't have, for only the elves were sober enough to notice their departure, and most of them cared little for what the dwarf and szelemér did. Thranduil raised a brow at his son, but Legolas ignored the unspoken question and joined in his kin's conversations instead.

#

"Where are we going, Thorin?" Talaitha asked, as he led her lower into the mountain. She was still unfamiliar with Erebor, but she _did_ know that his chambers were upstairs, not downstairs.

"You'll see," he replied, turning another corner.

"You're not showing me the mines, are you? Because my father's a blacksmith, so I know what an anvil looks like."

Thorin gave a half-smile and tightened his hand around hers. "No, not the mines, though they are in this direction, too."

She was about to ask another question, when she felt a rush of warm air gust towards her. The farther down the passage they went, the hotter the air became.

"I really hope that's not another dragon." Talaitha was jesting, for she had recognized the humid heat for what it was.

As they emerged through the doorway, her jaw dropped at the sight that greeted her. They were in a cave whose walls glimmered with flecks of gold that reflected off the steaming pools in the torchlight.

"This is magnificent," she breathed, gazing up at the ceiling.

"I came here on the day you sent me off to the forges," Thorin said and drew the woman forward. "These hot springs feed Erebor's water supply through pipes our miners installed in the rock. Unfortunately, many of them have rusted after over a century of disuse."

"We are to bathe, then?"

Thorin thought she sounded hesitant, so he released her hand and stepped away. "Only if you want to."

Talaitha turned around, her back facing him, and pulled off her tunic. "I want to," she said, smiling at him over her shoulder.

And that was all the encouragement Thorin needed.


	45. Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin and Talaitha have a little fun in the water. ;) Rated **E/M**.
> 
> Lissuin is a real Middle-earth flower. I invented the story behind the star stones, but I was influenced by the extended scene in _AUJ_ in which Thrór taunts Thranduil with them.

The water was almost unbearably hot as Talaitha descended the steps into the largest pool. Her movements caused ripples that lapped gently and teasingly against the small of her back. Thorin quickly divested himself of his clothing and followed her, heedless of his dampening bandages. When he reached Talaitha, she gave him a disapproving look and unwrapped the cloth from his torso to inspect the healing wound beneath. Thorin submitted to her examination, before taking the bandages from her and setting them aside. He drew her towards the edge, where an array of phials stood.

"I do not have lilac," he said apologetically. "But there are many floral scents from which you may choose."

Talaitha's face broke into a bright smile. She surveyed the bottles, uncorking them and bringing them up to her nose. "Pine. Rose. Lavender. Mint. Hyacinth. Freesia. Gardenia." She sniffed the final phial and paused, as though struggling to identify it. "And lissuin."

"A gift to my grandfather from the elvenking," said Thorin. "It is an uncommon flower, even among the elves."

"And one that is said to ease the heart." Talaitha's voice was soft, almost reverent, as she held the small bottle. "I have seen it only once, in Rivendell." Then she stoppered the phial and placed it back on the edge. "It is too precious."

"It was a gift. It is meant to be used." Ignoring her half-hearted protest, he scooped water into his hands and poured it over her shoulders. "And you would enjoy it far more than I."

She snorted, a lopsided smile on her face. "I do wonder what Thranduil was thinking when he gave Thrór that bottle."

"I believe he hoped my grandfather would respond in kind and return the star stones." Thorin poured another handful of water over her chest, this time allowing his hands to linger on her shoulders. He began to slowly massage them, rolling the tense muscles beneath his strong fingers.

Talaitha's eyes fluttered shut, and her head dropped slightly. Thorin moved closer, allowing her to lean against his chest, as he continued to knead her neck and shoulders.

"Star stones?"

"The white jewels I gave to Thranduil tonight," answered Thorin and splashed water onto her back. "They are older than most elves and are said to contain the light of the stars. Thus, the elves treasure them."

"How did your grandfather come to possess them?"

His hands moved up her back, pressing firmly but carefully into her shoulder blades. "Dwarves took them long ago."

"Like the Silmarils," she murmured, her breath ruffling his chest hair. "No wonder Thranduil isn't fond of dwarves."

"My kin did not steal the Silmarils," he corrected mildly. "Though they did facilitate their theft."

She smiled, and Thorin heard it in her voice. "And now you've done something Thrór could not or would not do."

"I did what was logical," he said indifferently. "My grandfather taunted the elf with the star stones, using them as a bargaining tool, which ultimately failed in the end." He paused and trailed a finger down her spine. "I will not repeat his mistake."

"Then, as Thranduil said, you are already a better king." She kissed his chest, the hair tickling her nose. "I did not know your grandfather, but I believe it was the gold sickness that caused him to act as he had with Thranduil."

Thorin nodded. "It was, for I felt the same irrational greed."

"Don't I know it," she said dryly, then jumped when he playfully pinched her side.

"Cheeky fairy," he muttered, though his gaze was warm with affection. "What am I to do with you?"

She lifted her head from his torso and looked up at him, grinning. "You could begin by finally putting that lissuin to use."

He arched a brow, amused. "I thought you said it was too precious."

"I did, and it is. But you insisted."

"In that case," he said huskily, leaning down to kiss her lips. "It would be my pleasure."

Thorin watched her wade deeper into the pool and dip below the surface, remaining submerged for longer than his patience would allow. He was about to go to her, when she came back up, the water sliding down her neck and breasts in rivulets. Her pale skin glistened beneath the gold-encrusted ceiling, tempting him. Thorin had to call upon all his willpower not to take her in his arms and lick the moisture from her body. Now was not the time for desire, he told himself, though his stiffening member clearly disagreed.

He uncorked the bottle and poured a generous amount of the liquid into his hand. Moving behind her, he lathered the soap into her hair and gently massaged her scalp. Lissuin's sweet scent pervaded the air around them. Thorin felt lighter, as if he were floating on the flower. He heard Talaitha sigh softly, before he carefully dipped her back to rinse the soap from her hair. As his fingers combed through the strands, they were like ribbons of silk beneath the water, and he imagined what they would feel like against other parts of his body. He suppressed a groan, his half-hard erection twitching in approval.

"You're awfully quiet," she remarked, looking up at him as he washed the last of the lissuin from her hair. "What are you thinking about?"

"You." Thorin lifted her back to an upright position and stood in front of her. Pouring more of the liquid into his hand, he rubbed it into her skin. "And how soft and smooth you are."

"More so than a dwarf, at least." She touched his torso, trailing her fingers along the hard muscles of his abdomen. "But I quite like the way your hair tickles my skin."

His own hands moved up to her neck, a smile in his eyes when she tilted up her head to allow him better access.

"What else do you like?" he asked, his voice deep yet light. Thorin's hands moved to her chest, palms sliding over breasts.

"I like when you do that," she said, her eyes closing. His fingers teased her nipples, rolling them and pinching them. "And that."

"As do I." Thorin's hands stroked her stomach, slid over her hips and along her back. The floral fragrance grew stronger, but as he drew closer, forehead pressing against hers, it mixed with Talaitha's own irresistible scent.

"I have a feeling we shall need another bath," she quipped, before submerging herself into the water to wash off the soap. Talaitha resurfaced and flashed him a mischievous smile.

His breath hitched when she grasped his erection, which was already throbbing in her hand. Thorin gripped her buttocks and kneaded the soft flesh.

"Unless we are already in the water."

"My clever dwarf," Talaitha murmured, voice tinged with affection and lust.

Her thumb circled his cockhead, pulling forth a groan from his lips. Thorin's own thumb had begun rubbing her clit, even as he walked her back towards the steps. When her calves touched the bottommost one, she turned them around and gently pushed him to sit so that his hardness protruded thick and proud above the surface. Talaitha knelt, his thighs between hers, and kissed the tip. She giggled as his erection jerked in response.

"Eager, isn't he?" she crooned, wrapping her hand around the base. Her thumb stroked the vein on the underside, and his hips bucked up of their own accord. There was a twinge of pain in his abdomen, but Thorin ignored it.

"He's not the only one." Thorin tried to pull her closer, but she squeezed his thigh with her free hand in warning.

"Patience," Talaitha admonished. "Learn to relinquish some control."

He growled in frustration, but it was difficult to remain disaffected when her tongue darted out to taste the fluid beading at the tip.

"Am I allowed to touch you?"

"Not yet," she replied, then licked a stripe up his erection and pressed the flat of her tongue to the frenulum. He choked on his retort.

Talaitha gave the head an experimental suck. Thorin's hands clenched into fists. When she swallowed him down and hollowed her cheeks, he bucked up into her mouth with a strangled moan. While one hand stroked his length, her other hand moved from his thigh to trail her fingers over his stones. The touches were fleeting, almost ticklish, and Thorin yearned for more. Talaitha happily obliged, gently cupping his sack and massaging it. Between her warm, wet mouth, her talented tongue, and her dexterous hands, he felt himself nearing completion.

" _Mahal_ , woman," he grunted, gritting his teeth with the effort of not thrusting.

Thorin felt her lips spread around him in a smile, and her answering moan nearly sent him over the edge. Talaitha must have sensed his impending orgasm, for she pulled off but placed a lingering kiss on the head and continued to move her hand over the shaft. Her lips were red and swollen, as her tongue licked a bit of saliva from the corner of her mouth. The motion was an innocent one, but Thorin found it incredibly erotic.

"Come here," he said huskily.

She looked down at their joined hands working his shaft and arched a brow at him. "What did I tell you about relinquishing control?"

He released her, but his eyes smoldered with desire. "I will not touch you until you give me leave to. Just come here, please."

Talaitha straddled him with her hands on his shoulders. Her core grazed his erection, causing their breaths to hitch. He longed to kiss her, to stroke her, hold her, and feel her. She trailed kisses down his neck to his chest, as fingers joined her lips to tease his nipples. Thorin's tongue darted out to wet his lips, which were parted in pants of pleasure. How long had it been since someone had lavished such attention upon his body?

When she reached his stomach, she leaned back to kiss around his wound, careful to avoid the stitches. The dull ache that had begun since entering the water was now dissipated. He looked at her, bemused, but she ignored his unspoken question and licked the skin above his bellybutton. Only once her mouth had thoroughly explored his torso did she meet his lips in a soft, slow kiss. Every inch of him tingled from her leisurely ministrations, the sensation heightened by his inability to touch her. Yet he nevertheless yearned to reciprocate.

"You'll get your turn later," she said, as if reading his mind. Though the twitch of his hands had probably given him away.

"You're just enjoying the control," he smirked.

She nipped his lower lip and soothed it with her tongue, then kissed him passionately. He tasted of wine and salt and she of salt and pears. Lips parted, mouths opened, tongues touched, breaths mingled.

"Yes," she whispered against his lips. "While I can."

Talaitha's breasts pressed into his chest, the hair there causing her nipples to harden. One hand remained on his shoulder, while the other snaked down his body to grasp his erection. She gave it a few strokes, before she began rubbing her sex against it. Talaitha moaned softly into his mouth, and his fists clenched again. He didn't know how much longer he could restrain himself.

"Can I touch you with my lips?" Thorin asked, his voice deep and slightly ragged. "Your neck, your breasts?"

At her nod, he wasted no time in kissing down her neck, sucking a light mark into the slope between her neck and shoulder. That was one of his favorite spots, for whenever his mouth was upon it, she shivered. And this time was no different.

"Such a graceful curve," he murmured, blowing over the blossoming, purple bruise. She rubbed harder against him and squeezed gently. His breath hitched, but he muffled it by latching onto her right breast. Thorin hummed appreciatively, as she rose higher on her knees to grant him easier access. The movement brought Talaitha's clit in contact with his cockhead, and she gasped. Thorin paid the same attention to her left breast, circling the nipple with his tongue. But when he suckled it, she pulled away, cheeks and neck flushed.

He watched her with half-lidded eyes, as she positioned her opening above his erection and sank _slowly_ down, wrenching forth a moan from both their lips. The heat of the water could not compare with her slick warmth, and he felt suddenly lightheaded. Talaitha leaned forward to capture his mouth in a searing kiss, and just as quickly as his dizziness came, it dissipated. He felt every sensation--her soft lips, probing tongue, and wet folds--so clearly that it was nearly overwhelming.

When Talaitha had taken all of him, she sat still upon his lap and merely looked at him for a moment. The pale blue of his eyes was almost completely eclipsed. His thin lips were parted, uneven breaths ghosting through. Muscles in his forearms tensed. She could see his struggle not to touch her and decided she liked it.

A hint of amusement must have shown on her face, for Thorin's eyes grew even darker, and he bucked up into her. The effort hurt his wound, but her surprised gasp was well worth it. However, it was his turn to gasp when she clenched around him. Her inner walls squeezed him, as she began to move. Talaitha braced herself against the edge behind him, grinding her hips against his. Even through his arousal, he managed to glare at her, but she only grinned.

She rode him slowly and thoroughly, the angle allowing his cockhead to drag over her sensitive bundle of nerves. The pace was maddening, increasing his desire but not allowing it to soar. It was certainly the most sensual sex he had experienced, heightened by the fact that as Talaitha's chest pressed against his, their hearts seemed to beat as one.

She leaned down to kiss him and whispered against his lips, "Touch me, Thorin."

He grunted, and his hands immediately found her hips, strong arms helping her movements. Their pace finally increased, the only sounds in the cavern the lapping of the water and their pleasured noises. Uneven breaths became pants. Gasps, groans, and moans grew louder.

Thorin wrapped an arm around her waist so that his other hand could reach down to cup her core. Two fingers rubbed hard circles on her clit, which seemed to throb beneath them. Her breasts bounced against his chest, and between that and his ministrations, Talaitha felt heat filling her stomach.

Thorin, too, was close, his spine tingling with his impending orgasm. A few more thrusts, a particularly hard rub of her sex, and Talaitha clenched powerfully around him, arching her back with a cry. The spasms around his cock sent him over. He pulled her down and spilled into her with a shout.

Talaitha leaned her forehead against his, trying to catch her breath. "We will definitely need another bath."

He chuckled and held her sweat-slicked body closer, ignoring the twinge in his abdomen when her hipbone grazed his stitches.

"Aye, but in a bit."


	46. Ughvashâ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst with a dash of fluff.

_She was running through a sea of corpses--orc, goblin, elf, man, and dwarf--, blinded by tears. The stench of blood and death pervaded the air. Body parts were strewn everywhere she looked. Glassy eyes stared unseeingly up at her, as she tried to step around the lifeless figures. Friends were among the dead--the dwarves she'd journeyed with, Bard the Dragon-Slayer, elves she'd known from Mirkwood. She tried to ignore the devastation surrounding her, tried to focus on finding one person._

_When she did find him, she almost wished she hadn't. He laid beneath the body of an orc, blue eyes open but reflecting naught but pain. Ragged, wheezing breaths struggled out from between parched lips. Hands pushed against the orc, but muscles lacked the strength to free the dwarf. Blood pooled at his side._

_She fell to her knees and helped pull the orc off him. She undid his armor, cut away his tunic with her dagger. A strangled cry followed. Gashes and stab wounds marred his torso. Blood leaked out of a long, deep cut that extended from his navel to just below his heart. A terrible wound. A death-wound. Trembling fingers delved into the wound, probing. His face twisted in agony, harsh, labored breaths escaping. But she continued exploring until she reached her destination. His punctured liver. She stitched it, fresh tears stinging her eyes when he screamed, trying in vain to hold down his limbs. But she stitched it. No more blood came from that wound, but he'd lost too much already._

_Bloody but steady hands splayed above his heart. Her eyes closed. She willed a powerful stream of energy to surge into his body. But no warmth came. No white light shone. She tried again. Still nothing. Panicked hands moved all over, heedless of his pained groans, but no matter where she touched or how desperately she summoned, the attempts were futile._

_Malevolent laughter rang in her ears. A tall, dark figure, wreathed in flames, floated towards them. She crouched in front of the dwarf's body, her small frame providing scant protection. She glared up at the demonic thing, unafraid for herself._

_"You cannot save him, little fae," the dark figure spoke, though she could see no mouth. "Run back to Nemere. Enjoy your home while it lasts, for my time is near."_

_"_ You _," she snarled, standing. "_ You _took my power."_

_The figure laughed again. "You are fortunate I did not also take your life." It turned, the flames extending along the battlefield, scorching the corpses and the grass. "This is just the beginning. Soon I will once again be lord of Middle-earth." A tendril of fire crept towards the dwarf._

_"Get away from him," she spat, brandishing her daggers. But she dropped them with a gasp when they grew unbearably hot in her hands._

_"I have no interest in Oakenshield. That was Azog's reward."_

_"And where is your mighty lieutenant now?" she taunted. "Dead, felled by his quarry." The woman raised her head, eyes flashing with hatred. "You failed once, and you will fail again."_

_"Such hope," the figure hissed. "Such belief." The fire surrounding it faded, leaving only the dark, man-like form. "I shall enjoy_ ripping _it from you."_

_And then it vanished._

_A choked word drew her attention to the dwarf lying behind her._

_"Talaitha."_

_She fell to her knees beside him, taking the hand he reached towards her._

_"Sauron must not be allowed to succeed," he said, struggling to keep his voice level. "Find Gandalf. Elrond. The elf-witch. Seek their protection."_

_She shook her head. "Thorin-"_

_"Do not tell me not to speak." He smiled briefly, before pain flashed across his face. "For there is much I have to say."_

_She dearly wanted to protest but nodded faintly. "Speak, then."_

_"I am dying." This time she_ did _protest, but he silenced her with a grave look. "We both know that without your gift, I will not live. My body is too broken to mend itself on its own." Tears welled in her eyes, her hands tightening around his. "Mourn for me, but do not dwell on me. You are meant for greater things."_

_"I shall do what I wish," she snapped, but it was half-hearted. He stroked her cheek, catching the first tears with his thumb. "I don't want to be without you."_

_The whispered words clenched around his heart like a vise, making breathing even more difficult. "Nor I without you. But we cannot always choose our fate. I am a lucky dwarf to have shared even this past year with you, though I would have liked more." The pain-filled haze left his eyes for a moment, as they sparkled with mirth. "I am, after all, a greedy dwarf who covets his treasure."_

_She laughed, for an instant, but sobered quickly. "Please don't leave me."_

_"No choice." He coughed, and blood trickled down his beard. She quickly wiped it away, as if cleaning its traces would somehow undo the injury. "Come here," he said, tugging her forward. "I wish to lie with you."_

_She laid down beside him, helping him put his arm around her, and pillowed her head on his shoulder. Careful to avoid his wounds, she placed her hand over his heart, a lump forming in her throat as he rested his free hand atop it._

_White-hot pain seared within him, and it took far too much effort to stem it. But he would have these last moments with Talaitha. And he would bear the agony in silence. She felt him tense beneath her, felt the muscles in his arm strain against the reflex to squeeze her. She knew how he suffered, how he struggled to shield her from it, and a new wave of tears came._

_They lay quietly for a while, taking what comfort they could from each other. When Thorin started shivering, she draped her cloak over him and snuggled as close to him as she dared. When Thorin coughed up blood, she wiped it away. When he could no longer keep the pain at bay, she stroked his hair and kissed his brow. All the while, silent tears streamed down her cheeks._

_"I go to the halls of my fathers," he said softly, a faraway look in his eyes. "I see golden light. I see my nephews."_

_"Thorin," she gasped, shaking her head in disbelief. "Thorin,_ please _."_

_"My precious szelemér." He cupped her cheek and smiled tenderly up at her. "You healed my heart, and now it is forever yours."_

_"Don't leave me," she pleaded, placing her hand over his on her cheek. "Please don't leave me."_

_His breathing slowed until it was imperceptible. Blue eyes clouded over with pain and sadness, but he never once took his gaze from her. "I am sorry," he whispered._

_"No! No! Thorin!" she cried, as his hand slipped from her cheek. Her fingers scrabbled for the pulse point on his wrist. His heart still beat, though barely. "I love you, Thorin," she said brokenly, pressing her lips to his. "I love you."_

_He looked up at her, burning her image into his memory. He would remember it in the Halls of Mandos._

_"I love you."_

_And with those three words, Thorin Oakenshield breathed his last breath. Talaitha stared at his face, at the vacant eyes from which a tear slowly fell, at the slightly parted lips. He was gone. Her strong, stubborn dwarf was gone. She didn't believe it. She_ couldn't _, even though no pulse throbbed against her fingers. Even though no soft exhalation touched her lips when she kissed him. He was gone._

_The realization hit her like a mace to the gut, her heart beating so frantically that she thought it might explode. With an anguished cry, she heaved his upper body into her lap and crumpled against it, holding it close, as sobs wracked her frame. Numb hands stroked his hair, fingers twining lovingly around the strands._

_The battlefield was barren, save for the dead. No one heard her shouts. No one comforted her. She was alone in her grief._

Talaitha jolted awake, glancing frantically around the dark room. A warm, heavy weight was settled on her bare stomach. Thorin's arm. She lay completely still, listening in the silence, her heartbeat returning to normal only when she heard his soft, steady breaths. He was alive. It had been a dream, yet it had seemed so real. Her heart ached, and she was surprised to feel tears sliding down her cheeks.

She couldn't lie beside him. She needed air, the winter's chill, the twinkling stars, for if she remained with him, she would surely relive the nightmare. Carefully, she slipped out from under Thorin's arm, donning a nightdress and her cloak, and quietly left the room. The lamps and torches had been relit, and they bathed the corridors in a warm glow, reflecting off the veins of gold in the marble walls. She found her way to the great hall, where they had feasted, and smiled slightly when she saw dwarves and men sprawled on the furniture and the floor, sleeping off the inordinate amount of alcohol they had drunk.

Crossing the hall was tricky, because the figures moved in their sleep. Bofur would've hugged her leg had she not quickly sidestepped him, nearly stumbling over poor Bifur. The huge front door was slightly ajar, and as she peeked her head through the gap, a familiar voice reached her ears.

"Join me."

Thranduil stood, tall and regal, bathed in the silver glow of the moon. He didn't look back at her as she approached, but she hadn't expected him to. Silence enveloped them, the only sound the occasional rustle of dry leaves on the trees. Talaitha began to grow nervous. She had never been alone with the elf before, but just when she considered bidding him good night, he spoke.

"Lissuin." The breeze carried the sweet scent to him. "I am pleased the dwarf has finally found a use for my gift."

"Indeed he has. But he smells of pine tonight, not of the flower."

If she'd hoped to unsettle the elf, she had failed, for he ignored the innuendo. "He is why you are sleepless."

Talaitha shouldn't have been surprised--after all, she knew elves were unnervingly perceptive--, but she was. "How can you possibly know that?"

"You seek comfort in the cold and not in the warmth of his arms." He gazed down at her with a hint of amusement in his blue eyes. "Of course, I do not know what he has done."

"He hasn't done anything. It was just a dream," Talaitha sighed. She wished Gandalf or Legolas were here in place of Thranduil, but the elf had fought against Sauron and might offer some insight. "Sauron was in my dream. He took my gift, so I couldn't heal Thorin or anyone else. And I think the goblins and orcs won the battle, because there were so many of ours dead."

He studied her, expression not betraying any emotion, though his tone was darker than usual. "Sauron is many things, but a mind-reader is not one of them. Not unless you are already tied to him, like the Nazgûl are. He cannot enter dreams."

She watched him apprehensively, knowing there was something he seemed reluctant to divulge.

"But?"

"He has been regaining his strength in the shadows of Dol Guldur, unseen by all until recently. Mirkwood's curse is his doing, as was the battle. I cannot say how far his reach extends."

"So he could have developed the ability to enter dreams?" she asked, a new fear gripping her heart.

"That is a possibility," Thranduil replied calmly. "But I do not believe he truly appeared to you. His presence was a conjuration of your mind."

"I don't understand. What does Sauron have to do with Thorin's death? Why would my mind connect the two?"

If Thranduil had been prone to shrugging, he would have done so then. "The Dark Lord weighs heavily upon us all, but perhaps you fear helplessness even more. The devastation in your dream very nearly occurred, and this could simply be your mind's way to process that."

Talaitha considered his explanation. Sauron frightened her, but she had naively and selfishly assumed that he would overlook Nemere because it was across the sea. He had ignored it during the first war, though she knew if he'd succeeded in conquering Middle-earth, he would have inevitably set his sights upon her homeland. So yes, she feared Sauron, but that threat had seemed so distant in the face of potentially losing Thorin and his nephews. Perhaps Thranduil was right. Perhaps the nightmare was her mind's way to finally acknowledge the danger of the Dark Lord by making him responsible for her failed gift and thus for Thorin's death.

"You fell unconscious immediately after healing the dwarf, did you not?"

"Yes," Talaitha replied, coloring in mild embarrassment.

"So you did not know that he had in fact lived."

"I was aware of very little during that time," she said dryly. But she had understood his unspoken meaning. "You're suggesting the dream could've also been a result of that not-knowing. But why so late? Why not while I was unconscious?"

"The mind is a mysterious thing." A shadow crossed Thranduil's face. "Traumatic events tend to scar it, and like physical scars, mental ones, too, require time to heal."

The elf king would surely know, for he had lived through many terrible battles. For all his unrelenting stoicism, Talaitha felt a newfound respect and affection towards him for allowing the indifferent mask to momentarily slip away.

"Thank you," she said softly, placing a hand on his arm. "You have eased my mind."

He looked down at her, perhaps surprised by her gesture, and said, "I shall send more lissuin. Or you may collect it yourself, if you wish."

"But the banishment..."

He gazed at her levelly. "It is lifted."

Talaitha grinned, her hand squeezing his arm before falling back to her side. That was as much of an apology as she was going to receive from the elf. But it sufficed.

#

When she slid back into bed, Thorin wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her against him, burying his face in the crook of her neck. His warm breath fluttered against her chilled skin as he spoke.

"You have been outside."

"I dreamt badly," she replied, laying a hand over his on her stomach. "I'm sorry if I woke you."

"You did not," he said, voice pleasantly sleep-tinged. "Your absence did."

Talaitha's heart clenched, the nightmare rushing back into her mind. She brought his hand to her lips and kissed it, holding it in place as she silently fought away tears.

But Thorin noticed, for he turned her to face him and peered at her with concerned eyes in the dim light. It was only then that Talaitha realized he had lit a candle on the desk to help her see when she returned. The simple gesture wrenched a sob from her throat, and she snuggled against his chest, one arm wrapping around his neck and the other around his back. She clung to him desperately.

His brows furrowed, and he hugged her, rubbing soothing circles on her back and kissing the top of her head. During the quest, Talaitha had been brave and strong, even comforting him on more than one occasion. Seeing her so stricken and vulnerable shocked him. But all he could do was hold her close as she cried, his heart hurting for her.

"You died in my dream. I couldn't heal you," she murmured, voice hitching. "I'd never felt so helpless in my life. I couldn't _do_ anything except watch you die."

"I am here, _ughvashâ_ ," he soothed, kissing her temple. "I am here because you saved me. It was just a nightmare."

"I know," she replied, sniffling. "But it seemed so real."

"Yes," he agreed. "I, too, have had such dreams, but in mine, _I_ lose _you_."

Talaitha pulled away slightly to look at him. "We're a fine pair, aren't we?"

"Indeed we are," he chuckled and wiped the tears from her cheeks. "A dwarf and a fairy. Who would have thought?"

"Apparently Gandalf," she quipped dryly. Then she sobered. "You called me something while I was making a mess of your chest."

" _Ughvashâ_ ," he smiled, tucking a copper curl behind her ear. "You said you'd learned some Khuzdul. Do you know what it means?"

"My fairy?" she guessed. He called her that often enough.

"Greatest treasure." His smile grew tender. "For you are more precious to me than all the gold and jewels in Erebor."

"I should have known you'd view me in terms of wealth," she muttered but stretched up to kiss him, her lips moving slowly against his. When she pulled away, fresh tears had welled in her eyes. "My sweet dwarf."

He snorted. "I have been called many things, but 'sweet' is certainly not one of them."

"Oh, but you are," she teased, kissing him again. "Sweeter than honey."

"I thought I was bitter with a hint of saltiness."

"That, too," she agreed, grinning at his innuendo. "No wonder the trolls were so keen to have you for breakfast."

"I'd really rather if _you_ had me for breakfast."

"I will," she assured. Talaitha yawned and snuggled into his chest again, this time without sobbing. "But we still have a few more hours till morning."

Thorin smiled and pulled the covers over her shoulders. It took him longer to fall asleep, but before he did, he sent a silent thank you to Aulë and Yavanna--and maybe to Gandalf, too--for bringing his fairy into his life.


	47. Thief in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin wakes alone again, and Talaitha is reunited with someone special.

_3 months later_

Time passed quickly and productively. The Lonely Mountain began to look like its old self again. Rubble had been cleared, cracks had been mended, broken doors had been rebuilt. The stench of dragon was stubborn to dissipate, but Talaitha helped the process along by burning fragrant leaves and incenses, until the woodsy scents seeped into every corner. Erebor very nearly _gleamed_ , as if sensing its own restoration. The gold veins in the marble seemed to sparkle even more when the light bathed them, and the Arkenstone shone like the brightest star above the throne.

Disposing of the dead goblins and orcs had been a gruesome task, requiring volunteers from all three allied races. Dwarves and elves piled the bodies, while the men set them aflame. Everyone hurried inside and remained inside, as the foul creatures burned. But even so, they smelled the pungent odor of singed, decaying flesh. A few, most notably Bilbo, had retched.

Their own dead, too numerous to bury, were also cremated, albeit lathered in scented oils and with proper ceremony. The dwarves, elves, and men had died together fighting a common enemy and were thus burned together, while the survivors stood in solemn attendance. Talaitha mourned them all, especially the elves she had known in Mirkwood. But when Thorin's hand closed around hers, she remembered poignantly how close she had come to mourning him and his nephews, as well. She squeezed his hand just a little bit tighter.

And now, the day she'd been dreading had arrived. She was outside the entrance with the Company to bid Bilbo and Gandalf farewell. The hobbit was returning to the Shire, and the wizard would accompany him to Rivendell on his way to Lothlórien for a council with Celeborn and Galadriel.

"If any of you find yourselves in the Shire again, come by for supper," said Bilbo, as he shouldered his pack. "I promise not to panic when my antique dishes go flying."

The dwarves guffawed, and Kíli replied, grinning, "What about when I toss those fancy wine glasses to Fíli?"

"Not even then."

Bofur whistled. "Bold words, Master Burglar. I'm not sure I believe 'em."

"For better or worse, I am not the same hobbit," Bilbo shrugged.

"No indeed," said Thorin, coming forward to clasp Bilbo's shoulders. "I thank you for all you have done. Be safe, my friend, and know that you will always be welcome in Erebor."

Bilbo smiled up at him, resting his hands briefly atop Thorin's, before the dwarf released him. The hobbit's gaze was tinged with sadness when it passed over Talaitha.

"And _you_ ," he said, pointing a finger at her. "Had definitely better visit."

Talaitha laughed, despite the tears in her eyes. She rushed forward to embrace him. "Keep my room open for me?"

"Of course," Bilbo assured. He hugged her and whispered near her ear, "If Thorin can part with you, that is."

Her only reply was to pull away and kiss his cheek, a fleeting smile tugging at her lips when he blushed. Talaitha moved on to Gandalf, who crouched to her height.

"You're always going somewhere," she teased.

"Not unlike you, my dear szelemér. The wandering healer..." He broke off, glancing behind her. "Who may have finally found a place to settle?"

"I may have," she said, with a smile. But it didn't reach her eyes. "Take care in your travels, Szürkevándorló, for I will have much to ask you next we meet."

The wizard chuckled. "I shall exercise the utmost caution," he promised. "Until our next meeting."

Talaitha stepped back, allowing Thorin to lace his fingers with hers, and watched Bilbo and Gandalf lead their pony and horse along the path. Halfway down the slope, they turned and waved, then mounted to begin riding towards Mirkwood. The forest would be more hospitable this time, for the wood elves would lead them safely through it.

#

That night, Thorin woke alone, clutching Talaitha's nightdress instead of her.

He was deliberating whether or not to follow, when his gaze fell on the table on which she kept her weapons. They were gone. Before he knew what he was doing or why, Thorin dressed and grabbed Orcrist and was sprinting loudly through the halls. Wrenching open the heavy doors, he looked around frantically for her. But she was nowhere to be seen.

Fearing the worst--though he wasn't even sure what that _was_ \--, he ran in the direction of Mirkwood. At the very edge, stood a small figure, half-bathed in moonlight and starlight.

"Talaitha," Thorin breathed. Thank Mahal he had found her.

Her bow and quiver of arrows were strapped to her back, but her sword and daggers were missing. Nevertheless, she looked ready for a journey. His stomach dropped.

"Did my absence wake you again?" she asked, turning to face him. "I'm sorry. Again."

"What are you doing out here?"

She shrugged and kicked a twig. "I couldn't sleep."

Thorin was at a loss for what to do. He yearned to gather her into his arms and take her back to bed, but somehow he knew that was the wrong thing to do. Something weighed heavily upon her heart or mind or both, and just like with the nightmare, she had sought comfort elsewhere. He'd only just found her, but he feared he was already losing her.

"Talaitha, I-"

But she interrupted him.

"Where do we go from here?" she asked. Their gazes met, her forlorn expression tugging at his heart. "Thorin, I don't know what to do. I have no purpose here anymore."

He went to her, unable to stop himself even should he wish to, and grasped her shoulders. "How can you think that?"

"Well, it's true, isn't it?" There was a plaintive note in her voice. "Erebor is nearly restored, and everyone is safe. A healer cannot help the healthy."

"But you are so much more than just a healer," he said fiercely, cupping her cheek. "The quest is over, but that does not mean _we_ have to be."

"No, it doesn't," she agreed. Talaitha smiled and allowed herself to lean into his touch. Thorin's heart swelled. "But for over a century, I have been naught but a healer, first in Nemere, then in Middle-earth. I fear I've forgotten how to be anything else."

"Then I shall help you remember." He bent down to place a soft kiss upon her lips. "Every day, for as long as you require." He kissed her again and again, until he felt her grin against his lips.

"And what exactly shall I be, then, if not a healer?" Her teasing tone was a welcome sound.

"You must still be a healer, for I doubt your gift would allow otherwise," he replied, his blue eyes sparkling in the moonlight. "But let us begin with being the first of your kind to be courted by a dwarf."

Talaitha giggled. "I think your sequence of events is flawed. Does courting not usually _precede_ sex?"

"I am King under the Mountain," he said dryly. "I will court how I wish."

"Of course, Your Majesty." She dipped into a curtsey, drawing forth a laugh from Thorin. "And what does My Lord wish to do now?"

" _My Lord_ wishes to kiss that mocking reverence right out of you."

And he proceeded to do just that--under the moon, through the halls, and in their bed. But he also did more than just kiss. He licked and nipped and sucked. He gripped and stroked and thrust. He took his time, convincing her with every touch, gasp, groan, and moan that she was still needed, that there was still healing to be done.

And after, when they lay together with tangled legs and synchronous heartbeats, Thorin remembered something.

"You had your bow and arrows."

"Yes. When I can't sleep, I find that walking helps." She smiled sheepishly. "I took my bow because I imagined orcs creeping up on me in the dark."

"But you didn't take your blades."

"No, I put those into one of your drawers, since I don't use them much anymore. You don't mind, do you?"

"Of course not. I just thought..." He trailed off, feeling suddenly embarrassed.

"That I'd left."

He didn't reply, but he didn't need to. His silence was confirmation enough.

Talaitha rolled onto her stomach and settled herself on top of him, resting her chin above his heart. He looked down at her, the doubt slowly leaving him. Thorin wrapped his arms around her and gently pressed her into his body.

"I did not leave," she said softly, kissing his chest. "And if I had, I wouldn't have sneaked away like a thief in the night."

An appropriate simile, Thorin thought, for she had stolen his heart as deftly as a thief steals valuables. But he didn't-- _couldn't_ \--say that. Not yet. Not until he was certain she would stay.

"I shall remember that the next time I wake alone."

Talaitha lifted her head to place a kiss upon his lips. "Thank you." She was grateful that he hadn't forbidden her from her nighttime walks, even though they worried him. "Perhaps you can accompany me sometime?"

"I would like that," he said, voice so deep that Talaitha felt it rumble against her breasts. "If only to protect you from orcs."

She swatted his shoulder and tutted indignantly. "I would fare quite well on my own, thank you. My eyesight _is_ better than yours in the dark."

"I am aware," he smirked, kissing her forehead. "It was not my intention to call your battle prowess into question. Rather, I find your independence alluring, despite my desire to protect you."

"Oh dear," she said gravely, though the mischief in her eyes betrayed her teasing. "I fear I shall become like your gold, tucked safely away inside Erebor."

Thorin growled and rolled, trapping Talaitha beneath him. "Such insolence cannot go unpunished."

He brushed a finger up her side, watching as goose bumps erupted on her skin. He stroked along the underside of her breasts, down her stomach, and across the inside of her thighs. She shivered, and licked her lips, obviously anticipating sex. Thorin let her believe that, until without warning, he began to tickle her, his fingers dancing over her ribs and under her knee. Talaitha squealed and tried to push him off, but he merely continued the torment, pinning her wrists above her head with one hand and enjoying the way she writhed against him. A tear slid down her cheek, as she alternated between laughter and pleas to stop. When he finally relented, she lay panting for a while, then punched his bicep.

"You are a cruel dwarf," she glared, but her gaze softened as he trailed butterfly kisses over her abused flesh.

"And you are lovely, my fairy."

He moved off of her, waiting for her to find a comfortable position, before settling behind her and wrapping one arm around her middle and snaking the other beneath her neck. She snuggled back against his chest and laced her fingers through his. He felt her yawn and buried his nose in her curls, allowing her gentle breaths to lull him to sleep.

#

Talaitha was returning from Dale, when she saw Thorin walking up the path towards her. She had been to look in on Bard's youngest son, Tirion, who had grown considerably in the two weeks since her last visit. That observation, coupled with the dwarf who had just taken her hand, brought a smile to her face.

"You're supposed to be in a council with Balin and Dáin," Talaitha scolded. "You haven't sneaked off again, have you?"

"I only did that once," Thorin said, rolling his eyes. "And I was barely twenty-four. Training with Dwalin was much more entertaining than listening to dignitaries squabble over whose daughter I should marry."

"Did they ever actually agree on a woman?"

He snorted and kicked a large branch out of the way. "No, but my grandfather had all prospective betrotheds paraded around Erebor."

"And you couldn't care less, could you."

"By then, I already knew Riva." His voice had softened for an instant, before bitterness crept into it. "Not that it mattered. If Smaug hadn't come, my grandfather would have chosen a wife _for_ me."

Talaitha sighed and nodded. "This is why I do not wish to be queen. Love is shoved aside in favor of politics."

"Was your aunt's marriage to the king arranged, as well?"

"Actually, no," she replied, with a laugh. "But it was a hard-won marriage, that's for sure. Árpád's father forbade it, because my aunt was not of noble birth. But when the old king died, there were only a few of his court who contested it, and Árpád eventually silenced them."

Thorin's brows rose in surprise. "He had them killed?"

"Of course not. He merely held them off long enough to change the law." Talaitha smiled up at him wryly. "And he had _plenty_ of supporters. Apparently, it's a romantic notion that the king should wish to marry for love instead of for power. His opponents underestimated the people's response."

"So you are free to marry whomever you choose?"

"I'm sure my uncle would balk at an orc for an in-law," she quipped, grinning at Thorin's cringe of disgust. "But otherwise, yes, I believe so."

"Good." He said nothing more on the matter, but his hand tightened around hers, as they climbed the hill before Erebor.

"I didn't sneak away from the council," said Thorin. "But I did leave it for a very good reason."

"A better reason than to escape your prospective betrotheds?"

"Aye, much better." He stopped when they crested the hill. "Look."

Talaitha did, and on the path from Mirkwood to Erebor trotted a horse. A black horse with white markings. _Her_ horse.

"Szélvész," she breathed. "But how-?"

"After the battle, I wrote to the dark-haired elf."

"Elrond," Talaitha corrected automatically. Then, eyes brimming with tears, she turned to Thorin, as though she'd only just heard him. "You wrote to Elrond?"

"I thought he should know his assistance hadn't been for naught."

She grinned and threw her arms around his neck, her voice muffled in his hair. "Thank you, Thorin."

The dwarf embraced her, smiling tenderly. "Go to her," he whispered.

With a chaste kiss to his cheek, Talaitha picked up the hem of her skirt and raced across the field towards the mare. When Szélvész glimpsed her mistress, she whinnied and broke into a gallop, leaving behind the blond elf who had led her to Erebor. Horse and fairy reunited in a flurry of tears, flowing mane, and nickers, causing the elf to smile at the approaching dwarf.

"She is a spirited mare," Legolas remarked to Thorin, while they watched Szélvész nibble on a strand of Talaitha's hair. "I do not envy the elf who traveled with her from Imladris."

"Nor I," Thorin snorted.

Legolas glanced at the dwarf out of the corner of his eye and saw the smile he struggled to contain.

"You did a good thing."

"I did nothing."

Cerulean eyes danced with mirth, but the elf did not reply. His attention was diverted to the horse and woman walking towards them. Szélvész nipped Thorin's shoulder in greeting and added a belated whinny when Thorin patted her nose.

"I'm already regretting writing to Elrond," he muttered.

Talaitha laughed, wrapping an arm around the mare's neck. "You should like her. She's as mannerless as your dwarves."

As if to prove her point, Szélvész took Talaitha's cloak between her teeth and yanked, tugging her away.

"And, it would seem, as covetous," Legolas quipped.

Thorin scowled, but it was half-hearted, for Talaitha looked so happy sitting on Szélvész's back. Reluctant though he was to admit it, he was glad for the mare, if only because she brought the fairy so much joy.

"You two may as well go inside," she said, craning her neck to address them as Szélvész cantered towards Dale. "I'll be back soon!"

Legolas' lips twitched. "I believe we have been abandoned in favor of a horse."

"In that case, I think I have some of your elf wine in a storage room somewhere," said Thorin. "We may as well drink to our rejection."


	48. To Almost Bed a King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talaitha showers Thorin with pleasure, while a storm is brewing. 
> 
> A picture of Talaitha's outfit in this chapter can be found in "Soul Healing Images." Take a look; it's pretty. The necklace Talaitha wears is Art Deco-inspired, because Richard Armitage said he imagines the dwarves' architecture to be reminiscent of Art Deco. Finally, the song I imagined Thorin and Talaitha dancing to is "Milligan's Fancy" by Tempest. 
> 
> That's all. Enjoy!

It was the day of Thorin's coronation, the day that Thorin was finally, formally to become King under the Mountain. The ceremony was exactly that, for he had been king in all but official title since his father had gone missing. But now, after Gandalf had confirmed Thráin's death in the dungeons of Dol Guldur, it was time for Thorin to receive the crown.

In his chambers, Talaitha was finishing braiding Thorin's hair, her fingers lingering on the silver beads that capped off the small braids on either side of his head. They were no different than the braids he'd worn during the quest, but he had asked Talaitha to redo them. As per tradition, the king's closest female relative--be she mother, sister, wife, or blood aunt--would braid his beard and hair, but Thorin's mother was dead, Dís was still in the Ered Luin, and he had neither wife nor blood aunt. Thus, the task fell to Talaitha, who was as near a wife as Thorin had.

"You should have waited for Dís to arrive," Talaitha remarked, combing her fingers through Thorin's dark strands. "I feel a bit sacrilegious touching your hair today."

He chuckled and caught her hand when it ventured near his face. "Then I would be waiting a year, for the journey from the Blue Mountains is longer than from the Shire." He kissed her palm. "And in that time, Dáin would try for control."

"Surely he could not wrest it from you. You are an heir of Durin."

Thorin stood, sighing. "He has an army. If he wanted to take Erebor, he could. Dáin is subtle, but I see his ambition. Had you not saved my nephews and me, he would be king now."

"Only because he would've been the last of Durin's line." Talaitha placed her hands on his chest, feeling the rich fabric of his midnight blue tunic. "I doubt he would have had Bard's and Thranduil's support. They don't like him."

Thorin snorted. "They don't like me either, but at least they tolerate me." He kissed her nose and smiled when she crinkled it to avoid the tickle of his beard. "And that is because of you."

"Obviously not," she replied. "Because despite my protests, Thranduil still threw you in prison."

"True," he said, pensive. "But the gold sickness would still plague me if not for you."

She opened a large, ebony wardrobe and withdrew a thistle-purple, velvet gown." Or you came to your senses on your own."

"No," he said, sitting on the bed to watch her unlace the front ties of her dress. Their relationship had progressed quickly once it had begun, for unmarried dwarves rarely shared quarters in the way he and Talaitha did. "I believe death broke its hold on me, and death would have taken me had you not intervened."

"You don't know that for sure." She had exchanged her simple dress for the gown and was about to start on her hair, when Thorin appeared behind her.

"Let me," he said, taking the brush.

He held it over the candle, heating it, before pulling it through the copper strands. Curls relaxed into soft waves that reached her waist, and he began to form tiny, intricate braids that wrapped around the back of her head. Individually, they were not symbolic, but allowing him to braid her hair signified, if only privately, that she was his. When he finished, he added two new beads in addition to his five that already dotted her hair. The first, a silver harmony bead, jingled softly when she moved her head, much to her delight. The second was also silver, but etched upon it were two rows of interwoven swirls.

"The bead of life. I thought it appropriate considering your work as a healer," explained Thorin. "It is customary for dwarves to wear beads representing their profession or status. I initially thought to craft you a bead of royalty, but you scoff at being a princess." He smiled teasingly at her in the mirror.

Talaitha laughed and examined the bead. "You were right to choose this design. It's beautiful, Thorin, thank you." She turned to kiss his cheek, then moved away.

But he caught her wrist. "That is not all I wish to give you." Thorin pulled out a wooden box from his desk drawer. "Open it."

She did. And gasped. "I can't wear these, Thorin. They're too grand."

"As the king's consort, it is expected of you to wear such jewels." He regarded her with patient amusement, as she still had not taken her gaze from the contents of the box. "But if these do not suit, I can find you others."

"No, they suit," she replied quickly and finally looked at him. "They match my gown perfectly, and they are lovely, really, but-"

"I know you've had your eye on that tiara since you saw it in Smaug's lair."

Talaitha smiled sheepishly but didn't deny his words. And when Thorin reached into the box for the jewelry, she didn't stop him from clasping the diamond necklace around her neck or from placing the amethyst tiara on her head. He stood behind her, hands on her shoulders, watching her in the mirror.

"I dreamt of you wearing this crown," he said softly. "While in Beorn's house. We walked hand-in-hand through Erebor's halls."

"How prophetic," she grinned, leaning back against his sturdy frame. His arms wrapped around her waist, and he rested his head on her shoulder.

"You are beautiful," he whispered in her ear, his tongue flicking against the pointed tip.

Her breath hitched. "And _you_ are wicked." She pulled away from him just as a knock sounded on the door.

"It's time," Thorin said. He held out his arm to Talaitha, who tucked hers into the crook of his elbow.

They followed Dwalin to the throne room, where Thranduil, Legolas, Bard, Dáin, and the dwarves were already assembled. As Thorin's heirs, Fíli and Kíli stood on either side of the throne, looking more princely in their rich tunics than Talaitha had ever seen them. They were smiling--or grinning, in Kíli's case--at their uncle and Talaitha. When Thorin stopped in front of the throne, she released his arm and took her place beside Legolas, but not before gazing up at the dwarf with sparkling eyes. In that brief moment, Thorin saw the admiration and affection she felt for him, and it buoyed his confidence.

The ceremony was solemn and the words spoken in Khuzdul, so that Talaitha struggled to understand the oaths Thorin took. She glanced at Legolas and Thranduil, hoping that at least the prince was similarly affected. But neither elf appeared to have difficulty comprehending.

Although she would have liked to know precisely what was being said, it wasn't really necessary. Talaitha grasped the basics. She knew Thorin pledged to lead and protect his people, and she knew he would, for he already had. She knew he vowed to rule fairly but resolutely and to put Erebor's wellbeing before his own. But the steadfast words could not rival the moment when Balin placed the iron crown upon Thorin's head.

As he turned towards the audience, Talaitha was struck by how regal he looked, how utterly like a dwarf king. Her heart skipped a beat when his gaze, momentarily soft, lingered on her, before it moved on to the elves. She bowed along with the others when Thorin ascended the throne, the Arkenstone glittering magnificently above the crown. Yet not even the jewel could match the dwarf's majesty, and suddenly, she felt daunted by him. Talaitha sensed then that things between them had changed.

#

At dinner she sat beside Thorin, like countless times before, but tonight it felt different and imbued with a new significance. Dáin seemed to be the only other person to notice, if his not-so-furtive glances were any indication. Talaitha tried to ignore them, but she tensed when she glimpsed the cold glint in his eyes.

Thranduil had seen the dwarf's glares, too, and though he showed no awareness of them, they concerned him. Dáin coveted the throne and had appeared less than pleased when news of Fíli's, Kíli's, and Thorin's survival had reached him. The elvenking was certain Dáin had already been envisioning himself as King under the Mountain. Now that the title was out of his reach, he would undoubtedly devise another way to gain power in Erebor. And Thranduil suspected Talaitha was the key.

Thorin, at least, seemed blissfully ignorant to Dáin's scheming. Having removed the crown, he looked like his usual self, if a bit less stern. His fingers were loosely entwined with Talaitha's, as he listened to Bard update the group on Dale's and Lake Town's reconstruction. Once the dragon had been removed, an arduous task with which the dwarves and elves assisted, progress was quick. Dale's crumbled buildings had been restored, while Lake Town's shabby wooden structures had been replaced by stronger ones. Now that Bard was king of Dale and the new Master of Lake Town, the cities would flourish once more.

As more ale and wine were drunk, the dwarves grew increasingly rowdy. Lewd jokes were told, good-natured insults were bandied, and laughter was raucous. Even the newly-crowned King under the Mountain participated in the gaiety, stomping his foot to the beat of Bofur's impromptu song about the man in the moon. That led to some of the other dwarves joining in on their instruments, with Dwalin plucking a crisp melody on his violin, Dori and Ori accompanying him on their flutes, and Bombur thumping a rhythm on his drum. In the midst of such cheer, Talaitha forgot her worries, especially when Fíli and Kíli pulled her up to dance. She laughed as they took turns twirling her, until she felt a presence behind her and turned to face Thorin. His left hand was outstretched towards her. She glanced at it, brows raising in surprise.

"You want to dance?"

He regarded her with mild amusement. "That is generally what an outstretched hand indicates."

Talaitha still stared at him but nevertheless placed her hand in his and allowed him to lead her in a smooth rhythm. He was a talented dancer, much more so than his nephews, who had merely spun her around. Although she had enjoyed that, she definitely preferred a more skillful partner. When the music picked up speed, Thorin effortlessly adjusted, guiding her with a gentle hand on her waist. Her grip on his shoulder tightened when he drew her closer.

"You are beautiful tonight," he murmured in her ear.

His warm breath ghosted over her neck, and she resisted the urge to pull away, seeing Dáin's glower over his shoulder.

"Just how much ale have you had?"

"Enough," he replied, with a laugh. "But I am not drunk. I wouldn't be able to walk very well, much less dance, if I were."

"No, I suppose not," she agreed. "And you _can_ dance."

"You are surprised," he observed. "It is part of a prince's training." There was a hint of a smirk on his lips. "Even a dwarf prince's."

"Apparently not a part of Fíli's and Kíli's, though."

"Their mother tried to teach them, but they escaped to the forest." Thorin flashed her a wry smile, as he twirled her. "And I never managed to find them in time."

Talaitha laughed, shaking her head. "Poor Dís. All these males conspiring against her." Thorin's lips twitched. She was right. His sister had first borne the brunt of his and Frerin's antics, and then Fíli's and Kíli's. "The Ered Luin isn't very far from the Shire, but judging by the fact that you lost your way twice, I guess you never visited it."

"No," he replied, ignoring her teasing jab. "But I did occasionally travel to Bree on business."

"I spent a lot of time in Bree. We may have been there at the same time and seen each other, but never even knew it."

"That is unlikely," he said, looking down at her with such tenderness that Talaitha's step faltered. "Because I would not have forgotten your face."

The song had ended, but neither appeared to want to part. Thorin still held her body and gaze, and Talaitha wouldn't have broken contact with either even if she could. They stood off to the side of the feasting hall, suspended in the moment and in each other.

Until a loud _clatter_ shattered their enchantment.

Kíli met Thorin's scolding glare with a sheepish smile and bent to collect the plate he had accidentally knocked to the floor. Fortunately, it had been relieved of its contents hours ago.

Dwarf and fairy rejoined the group, Talaitha taking her seat with the hint of a blush when Legolas gave her a knowing, amused look. His father appeared less pleased, but when she furrowed her eyebrows curiously, his expression once again became an indifferent mask. She'd failed to notice the contempt with which Dáin currently regarded her, but Thranduil had not.

Evening became night, and night became early, dark morning. By the time the revelers went up to their rooms, the merry dwarves had managed to get Bard dancing and had cracked, if only for an instant, even Thranduil's stoic countenance.

Thorin was in a far better state than the rest of his kin, but he nevertheless collapsed face-first onto the bed after reaching his chambers. He'd had the foresight to kick off his boots, but he was still in his finery. He laid like that, while Talaitha exchanged her gown for a nightdress.

"Please tell me you haven't fallen asleep," she said, tapping his shoulder a bit harder than necessary.

"Mmph."

"Good, because I might've just left you that way." Talaitha sat beside him, and Thorin managed to roll over onto his back to lay his head in her lap. As if by instinct, her fingers began combing through his hair. "You shouldn't sleep in that tunic."

"I won't," he replied, looking up at her. He reached up a hand to stroke her cheek. "I am glad you were here tonight."

"You mean last night. It is already tomorrow."

"Last night, then. I'm far too drunk and happy to quibble over semantics." He sighed contentedly when Talaitha began massaging his scalp. "I had intended to carry you up to our bed, to watch that gown slink to the floor, and to ravish you."

"There will be other nights."

"Aye, but it is not every night I am crowned king."

She grinned, her hands stilling in his hair. "Lie back on the pillows."

Thorin did, watching her curiously while she hovered above him, as if contemplating what she should do next. Comprehension dawned when she pushed up his tunic to reveal the muscles of his torso, which flexed in anticipation of her touch. Talaitha traced the lines with a finger and bent down to kiss the scar on his abdomen. Her tongue replaced her lips, and he felt himself stirring with every lick.

He was more than half hard by the time she unlaced his breeches and pushed them over his hips, kissing his hipbone in thanks when he lifted his arse to help the process. Pulling the trousers down and off, Talaitha smoothed her hands up his calves and over his thighs. Then she leaned in to kiss and lick along the same path. When her breath ghosted over his pelvis, so close to where he longed for her to touch, his cock twitched, as if to beckon her.

Talaitha obliged. She wrapped a hand around the base and slowly moved it up, until his foreskin pulled back to reveal the pinkish-purple head. The tip already glistened with the promise of the attention his hard flesh would receive. She stroked him leisurely, maddeningly, thumbing over the slit every few runs, enjoying the way his pupils dilated and nearly eclipsed the light irises.

Thorin had become so engrossed in her gentle ministrations that when he felt his erection suddenly enveloped in the warm wet of her mouth, he couldn't suppress a startled moan. He lifted off the pillows to look down at her, their gazes meeting as her lips stretched around his girth. The sight should have been obscene, but it filled him with such powerful desire that he nearly bucked up into her mouth. Thorin clenched his fists, his abdominal muscles straining against the urge.

He felt her lips spread into something of a smile. Of course Talaitha was aware of his dilemma. And she was entertained by it. If possible, his eyes darkened even more, and he gave a careful thrust that merely spurred her on. His breath hitched when she cupped his stones, fondling them. Thorin groaned when a finger pressed against the sensitive skin directly behind his sack.

She moved faster over his length, hand pumping what her mouth couldn't reach, tongue circling the head and dipping into the slit. It became increasingly more difficult to restrain himself from bucking up and hitting the back of her throat, especially when her other hand tightened around his stones. His breath came in pants now, fists clenched into the covers. Heat pooled at the base of his spine, and with a final, hard suck, Thorin arched off the bed and came with a shout. His cock twitched in her mouth, jerking when her throat undulated against it to swallow his release.

With a final kiss to the tip, Talaitha collapsed beside him, opening and closing her sore jaw. Between the ale and his sated drowsiness, Thorin was at risk of fading quickly. He rolled onto his side, propped up on his elbow, and stroked a finger down her arm.

"How can I repay such pleasure?" he asked, his voice still rough from orgasm.

She smiled, catching his hand and kissing it. "I have a few ideas, but they can wait. For now, sleep, my king."

Thorin's heart warmed at the appellation. From her lips, it sounded like an endearment, rather than a title. It was imbued with the same sweetness that never failed to strip his defenses and make him respond in kind.

"Thank you," he said. "For this and everything else."

He was vague, but she'd understood. While Thorin discarded his tunic, Talaitha pulled the covers over them. She smiled when he rested his head on her breast. Something had come over him that night, a peculiar feeling of vulnerability, such that he craved the gentleness the szelemér offered so freely.

He fell asleep to the steady beat of her heart and her fingers combing soothingly through his hair.


	49. Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talaitha makes a difficult decision. 
> 
> For a picture of her dress in this chapter, check "Soul Healing Images." This chapter is rated M.

The month passed busily, as Thorin and Talaitha settled in to life as king and consort. He was preparing to meet with the delegations from Rhûn to re-establish trade, while she worked with Óin to expand the healing halls and to create a room in which she could store her herbs. In the flurry of activity, Talaitha had forgotten about Dáin's preoccupation with her during the coronation.

Until he next visited, with a young dwarf maiden in tow.

Talaitha was putting Szélvész through her paces on the field outside Erebor, when she saw the small dwarf assembly arrive. Resisting the urge to spur the mare into her swiftest gallop, the szelemér finished the exercises and brushed down Szélvész before returning to the mountain. The nearer she drew, the more her anxious curiosity grew.

#

"Dáin," greeted Thorin, as he strode into the hall. His brows rose in surprise at the sight of the dwarf's companion. "I was unaware we had business again so soon. I fear Rhûn has monopolized my attention as of late."

"Yes, I hear you intend to renew the old trade agreements. A wise decision, even if the Easterlings are a disagreeable people," Dáin replied. He inclined his head towards the female dwarf beside him. "I do not believe you have met my daughter, Nifha."

"I have not," confirmed Thorin. "For you did not yet have a daughter when I knew you."

Nifha curtseyed, her head bowing demurely when the king's gaze fell on her.

"I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty."

"I hope you don't mind my bringing her," Dáin said apologetically. "She wished to see Erebor as it once was."

"Not at all." Thorin regarded Nifha and noticed that she was brimming with excitement. "Would you like a tour?"

"Oh yes, very much." Nifha smiled brightly. "I have heard tales of Erebor's beauty and always longed to see it with my own eyes."

"Then it is settled. Unfortunately, I cannot take you myself," Thorin said. He glanced at the white-haired dwarf at his side, who nodded. "But you will be in capable hands, for Balin knows the mountain even better than I do."

After the two dwarves had gone, Dáin smiled sheepishly. "I confess Nifha is the reason I came. Now that Smaug is dead, I felt it was safe enough to indulge her curiosity. She has spent most of her life shut up in the Iron Hills."

"Aye, our women are precious," said Thorin, smiling slightly. "She should see Dale, as well. And Esgaroth, once it is rebuilt."

Dáin chuckled. "We had actually just visited Dale, then she got it into her head to see Erebor, too. That's why we arrived unannounced."

"You and your daughter are always welcome." Thorin poured a goblet of wine for each of them and gestured towards the table. "This treaty with the Easterlings is a precarious one. They were mostly peaceful in my grandfather's time, but now with Sauron's return..."

"You think they will join with him again?" Dáin asked, sitting across from the king.

"They were allied with him in the past," Thorin replied. He swirled the wine in his goblet, before taking a drink. "If he continues to gain power, as Gandalf and Thranduil believe he will, it is only a matter of time until his presence becomes known to the Easterlings."

"Which is all the more reason to be on good terms with them," said Dáin. "Even during the war, there were some tribes that fought with the Free Peoples."

"Aye," Thorin nodded. "And it would be prudent to keep an eye on them. If darkness stirs in Rhûn, we will be the first to see it."

"It is encouraging that the Easterlings agreed to come. Surely if they knew Sauron has returned, they would have little reason for diplomacy."

"That is my thought, as well." Thorin refilled their goblets. "But let us speak of more pleasant matters now."

"Where is that pretty healer? I hope she's still here, or else my credibility with Nifha shall be shattered." Dáin's tone was cheerful, but he seethed internally. "She did not believe me when I told her you had a fairy as a guest."

"Her name is Talaitha Borage," Thorin supplied. He bristled at Dáin's offhand remark but hid it well. "She's out riding. I'm surprised you did not meet her on your way from Dale."

"Riding." Dáin grinned. "How very elf-like a pastime."

"Fairy-like, rather," Thorin corrected and took another sip of wine. "Her race, while related to the elves, is quite unique."

Dáin indulged his cousin with a smile. "Indeed, though I know little of them. They hail from across the sea, do they not?"

"Aye, from the Evergreen Plain."

"She's a long way from home," Dáin mused aloud. "Does she not miss it?"

"You would have to ask Talaitha." Thorin was growing uneasy with this topic of conversation, because it forced him to consider things he would really rather not think about. "But she enjoys sharing her kin's remedies with the people of Middle-earth."

"An admirable way to pass one's days. Yet for a traveling healer, she seems to have settled quite well in Erebor." Dáin stared at the gold-veined marble walls, forcing his envy to remain in check. "As I said, my knowledge of fairies is limited, but I do not think they live underground as we do."

"They don't," Thorin affirmed. "But Talaitha ventures outside daily, especially since she was reunited with her horse."

"Then I'm pleased to hear she is content," Dáin smiled, but as he finished his wine, a sinister scheme began to form.

#

Talaitha was returning to Thorin's chambers after riding with Szélvész, when a familiar, unwelcome voice stopped her at the top of the stairs.

"Ah, Miss Borage. Just the person I was hoping to see."

She turned around slowly, as Dáin climbed the stairs.

"How can I help you, My Lord?"

"Walk with me." He offered her his arm, and she stared at it warily before reluctantly taking it. "You have been at Erebor for many months now. Are you enjoying your stay?"

"I am," she replied guardedly. "It is unlike any place I've seen. There are few mountains where I come from, and none of them are as grand as this one."

"Yes, it is remarkable," agreed Dáin. "But I wonder that you feel so comfortable here."

Talaitha's brows creased, and a cold dread began to seep into her bones. "Pardon?"

"I just mean that our culture must be very different to yours." They turned a corner, nearing the staircase that led to Thorin's chambers. She yearned to break into a run and lock herself safely inside. "Which is why I'm impressed with how quickly you have integrated yourself amongst my kin."

Though his tone was benign, Talaitha nevertheless sensed something malignant lingering beneath.

"I have been with Thorin and his Company for nearly eighteen months," she said, choosing her words carefully. If she misspoke, the dwarf may twist them to his advantage, whatever that might be. "Considering the trials we faced together, that is a sufficient amount of time to cultivate mutual respect."

"And mutual affection, it would seem." Dáin stopped and faced Talaitha. "My cousin is very fond of you."

His easy demeanor had vanished, and he regarded her with thinly-veiled contempt. She tried to remove her hand from his arm, but he gripped it tightly.

"A warning, Miss Borage," Dáin said, his brown eyes glinting in the torchlight. "You may have bewitched Thorin, but you do not have a future with him. He _will not_ taint the Line of Durin by marrying a fairy. Sever ties before it is too late."

Talaitha held her head high, refusing to show him the pain and humiliation she felt.

"Neither of us has any intention of marriage, so your _advice_ is mistakenly given."

"Oh, I wouldn't be so certain of that," Dáin smirked. "He will ask for your hand, and you will refuse."

"What I do is my decision," she said, glaring coldly at him. "You may threaten me all you like."

Dáin scoffed and loosened his hold on her hand long enough for Talaitha to pull it free.

"I do not threaten. I promise, Miss Borage."

"And if I don't obey you, what will you do? Have me killed?"

"Of course not," he laughed. "Thorin is useless to my plan if he is mourning you." He took a step towards her and lifted her chin with a finger. "No. If you go against me, I shall take Erebor by force."

"You wouldn't dare," she spat, wrenching away from his touch.

"Wouldn't I?" Dáin smiled darkly. "I have an army. What does Thorin have? Twelve dwarves and a fairy."

"He has alliances with the men of Dale and Lake Town and with the elves of Mirkwood."

"He does," the dwarf agreed. "But by the time they arrive, Erebor would be mine. They would not risk war for a dead once-king or his dead heirs."

For the first time, Talaitha's stony expression faltered. Dáin's smile grew.

"I see I have dealt the fatal blow." He stroked her face with the back of his hand, enjoying the way her jaw clenched beneath his fingers. "So smooth," came the whispered words. Then he grasped her chin and tilted it up so that their gazes met. Talaitha didn't bother struggling, though she wanted nothing more than to send her knee into his groin. "Heed my words, fairy. If you do not leave him, I will take his throne and his life. And if you tell him any of this, I will kill him and his nephews in front of you."

Dáin dropped his hand and stepped back, behaving as if he hadn't just threatened treason. "I shall see you at dinner. There is someone I think you will enjoy meeting."

"I doubt that," she snapped. The szelemér turned on her heel and left the dwarf smirking at her retreating back.

Once Talaitha was inside Thorin's chambers, her legs gave way beneath her. She sank to the floor, the tears she had fought to contain now surging forth. She scrubbed furiously at her cheek and chin with the bottom of her tunic but still felt Dáin's touch against her skin. Covering her mouth with a hand, she tried to muffle her sobs, as she pulled up her knees and leaned back against the door. Images of Thorin's lifeless body, with blood pooling from an ax wound, flashed in her mind, and she squeezed her eyes shut, as though that would blind her to the vision. Her heart ached, just like it had after her nightmare. Was it a premonition of things to come? If it was, she had only one choice. She could not save Thorin with her gift again, but she could by doing as Dáin demanded.

So she wiped away her tears and stood, breathing deeply until she ceased hyperventilating. She moved to the desk, dipping a quill into the inkwell, and began to write.

Later, Talaitha rode unnoticed towards Mirkwood.

#

Thorin hadn't seen Talaitha since that morning, so when she entered the dining hall wearing a forest green, silk dress, he immediately stood, took her hand, and led her to the seat beside his. But before she could sit, Dáin addressed her.

"If my cousin can part with you, perhaps you would like to spend the evening in the company of a woman for a change?"

She had been avoiding meeting Dáin's gaze, but now she was forced to. He had his hand on the arm of a young dwarf maiden, who was smiling brightly at Talaitha. It had been years since she had seen a female dwarf. This one was rather pretty. Her beard was neither thick nor long, and it looked softer than the males' facial hair. Talaitha noticed the dwarf maiden had garnered many appreciative glances from the men, but Thorin's attention had not swayed from the szelemér. Her heart ached for what she had to do.

She played along. She had little choice, and Dáin knew it.

"That would be lovely." Talaitha smiled and kissed Thorin's cheek in apology. A small thrill of satisfaction filled her when she imagined Dáin's ire at the gesture. "I have had quite enough of uncouth males anyway."

That led to indignant protests, with Bofur's, Kíli's, and Dori's being the loudest. Balin rolled his eyes in exasperation of his kin's reactions, while Dwalin chuckled. Even Thorin's lips twitched as he sat down.

"I think, then, you will get along well with my _daughter_ , Nifha."

Dáin was the picture of civility, but Talaitha knew he had intentionally placed emphasis on his relation to the maiden. In that moment, his plan became clear to Talaitha. He intended for Nifha to marry Thorin so that he would be father and grandfather to royalty. But if that was the alternative to Thorin's death, she would gladly accept it.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Nifha," she said, taking the seat beside the girl's. "I'm Talaitha Borage, or Borvirág, in my language."

"The wandering healer. I know. I have wanted to make your acquaintance since Father told me about you." Nifha's excitement startled Talaitha, as did the fact that Dáin had apparently spoken of her. "I have never known a fairy before, but I've read every book in our library about your kin and the Evergreen Plain." She paused to cut a piece of venison, but the fork hovered halfway to her mouth. "Is it true that the sun always shines?"

"Merely an exaggeration," Talaitha replied. Her hands fiddled with the napkin in her lap. "But we are blessed with temperate weather in the south where I am from."

"Is it true that fairies live for 1000 years?" Nifha asked. "And that they only begin to show their age when three-quarters of their life has passed?"

"My dear, you are overwhelming Miss Borage with your questions," Dáin scolded.

His daughter blushed and bowed her head. Talaitha felt a wave of sympathy for her. Nifha was as much a pawn in Dáin's plan as she was, but what made the maiden's situation far worse was that he was her father.

"I assure you she is not," Talaitha said. She placed a hand on Nifha's and smiled gently. "Curiosity is a _good_ thing." Nifha returned her smile and finally took a few bites of her neglected dinner. "To answer your questions, yes, fairies live to about 1000 years old, and yes, we appear youthful until around 750 years old. That's because we age more slowly than dwarves or men."

"And you _are_ descended from elves, aren't you?" Nifha noticed her father's eyes narrowed and quickly added, "I do not hate elves. I think they're beautiful."

Talaitha laughed at the defiant tone and was surprised to realize that she liked the girl. She had thought she would dislike her, or even hate her, for her part in Dáin's scheme. But there was no malice in her. Talaitha suspected Nifha had no idea just how manipulative her father's visit was.

"The Valar created us from the first elves, yes," Talaitha answered wryly. "But I think they grew lazy, for we only possess a fraction of their qualities."

Nifha giggled, oblivious to Dáin's scowl, which he hid behind his goblet. But Talaitha had seen it, and her smile widened. He clearly hadn't expected her to befriend his daughter. Though the victory was small and temporary, Talaitha reveled in it.

#

"You seemed to like Dáin's daughter," Thorin remarked, as he and Talaitha walked back to his chambers. "And she certainly liked you. Dáin said she has been eager to meet a real, live fairy." He chuckled and lifted Talaitha's hand to his lips. "And because that fairy is you, I cannot blame her."

Talaitha savored the simple gesture of affection, yet her heart ached for it, too. Throughout dinner, whenever she wasn't occupied with Nifha, her attention was on Thorin, memorizing the cornflower blue of his eyes, the graceful curve of his lips, the sharp lines of his face, the silver streaks in his hair, the deep timbre of his voice, and the way his own gaze would linger on her when he thought she wasn't looking. She would remember them all, for her memories would be all she had left.

"Nifha is a sweet girl," Talaitha replied. "I'm sure Dáin has already chosen a husband for her."

Thorin nodded. "And knowing him, he would not settle for a common dwarf."

 _How close you are to the truth_ , she thought, blinking back sudden tears. She could not allow Thorin to see her pain. If he did, he would act against Dáin, and Talaitha feared it would end in his death. She longed for him to gather her into his arms, longed for the comfort only he could provide. But she would not risk Thorin's safety.

And she would not spend her last night with him agonizing over her misfortune.

"Come with me." She led him away from the central staircases and corridors into a dim, secluded alcove she had never seen until that moment. She'd taken such a convoluted path that she wasn't sure she could find her way back. Perhaps if they remained ensconced here, hidden from everyone, Dáin's plan would fail. She smiled at the whimsical idea, though she knew it was impossible.

Thorin arched a brow. "These are not our chambers."

"No, but no one will think to look for us here."

He was prevented from replying by her lips brushing against his. He readily returned and deepened the kiss, pressing his hands into the small of her back to draw her nearer. Her arms encircled his neck, and she willingly opened her mouth to allow his tongue entry. Their kisses were slow, sensual, passionate--a seamless reciprocation of breath and lust-tinged love.

Talaitha broke away first, but their gazes locked, as she wordlessly slipped her silk gown over her shoulders to reveal pale skin that seemed to glow in the flickering torchlight. Thorin watched her, his irises quickly becoming eclipsed with his growing desire. His finger trailed a path between her breasts, along the underside, and over her belly. His lips followed. He was on his knees now, looking up at her, hands resting on her thighs.

She leaned back against the wall and spread her legs, shivering from both the cold marble and the kisses Thorin placed along the inside of her thighs. His beard scraped against her skin, providing a sharp contrast to his soft lips. The two sensations together were nearly maddening. Every touch felt like a thousand, heightening her arousal like never before.

Thorin's gaze did not waver, as his tongue followed the same path his mouth had just taken. When he reached her core, he spread her labia and licked a stripe through her folds, the heady scent of her arousal making his head spin. His tongue flicked against her clit, and he felt her hands in his hair, gently encouraging his ministrations. Her breathing changed, became peppered with gasps, as his mouth covered her clit and suckled it. A finger entered her, then another, stroking along the top of her walls until a moan announced that he had found the bundle of nerves.

Talaitha pushed her hips against his mouth, seeking even more contact, so he lifted one of her thighs over his shoulder to open her further. His fingers delved deeper, quicker, and his tongue circled her clit with increasing pressure. Thorin felt her walls tighten, heard her breaths become pants as her release neared. That tension finally snapped, and she cried out, her back arching off the wall. He brushed light kisses over her sensitive flesh, waiting for the waves of pleasure to pass.

Once they did, her eyes opened. What he saw in them sucked the air from his lungs.

"I need you," she whispered.

Thorin was on his feet before she had finished speaking. He lifted her, one hand under her buttocks, while the other unlaced and pushed down his breeches to free his straining erection. He hoisted Talaitha higher, both hands gripping her arse now, as she wrapped her thighs around his waist and grasped his cock. Giving it a few strokes, she positioned it at her entrance. Thorin breached her folds, the tight, wet heat that enveloped his hard flesh ripping a groan from his throat. Talaitha echoed it with a moan.

Her arms encircled his neck, their chests flush against each other. He thrust slowly and deeply, his cockhead dragging over her bundle of nerves. Gazes met; mouths opened in soft pants; hands caressed. It was more than lust, more than sex. Each movement was unhurried and sensual, the focus less on reaching completion than on feeling each other emotionally and physically. Yet there was passion, as well, reflected in their eyes, along with something else, something far more significant.

He kissed her, their lips melding together as seamlessly as their pelvises, tongues meeting in an intoxicating dance. They tasted and savored each other, their lovemaking evoking poignant emotions in both. Talaitha held onto him and leaned her forehead against Thorin's, as one of his hands cradled the back of her head.

Their pace increased, and Talaitha's eyes fluttered closed. She was nearing release once more, and Thorin needed to see it.

"Open your eyes."

She obeyed, holding his gaze as their breaths grew ragged and uneven. He began to lose his rhythm, and after a few more thrusts, spilled inside her, his groan swallowed by Talaitha's mouth. Seconds later, she followed, her walls clamping down onto him in spasms and her moan barely audible against his lips.

Sated and spent, with chests heaving, they remained joined for a while, content to share languid kisses. Only when he slipped out of her did he set her down, kissing her stomach as he bent to pick up her dress.

After nearly an hour's delay, they finally reached Thorin's chambers.

#

Talaitha laid on her side and watched Thorin sleep for the last time. Silent tears streaked down her cheeks, as she brushed a strand of hair from across his face. He looked so peaceful and young that, despite the pain in her chest, she couldn't help but smile. She would leave him tomorrow, but she took comfort in the knowledge that he was much happier than when she'd met him. He had achieved his dream and could now enjoy it. Her departure would not change that.

The night deepened, yet still Talaitha did not sleep. Her eyes felt dry and sore from crying. She was exhausted from the intensity of her emotions, but morning would arrive too quickly. She was restless. She wanted to scream and shout and break things. She wanted to steal away with Thorin to a place where no one would ever find them.

She slipped out of bed, hugging her middle, and paced. Her gaze settled on her bow, then on the wardrobe. If she left now, she wouldn't have to lie to Thorin; she wouldn't have to say goodbye. But as Talaitha looked towards the bed again, she remembered his panicked expression the night he'd thought she had done exactly that. No, she couldn't-- _wouldn't_ \--sneak away.

So she laid back down, curled into Thorin's chest, and closed her eyes.


	50. Action

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talaitha acts. 
> 
> The song "Stay" by Poets of the Fall perfectly sums up this chapter. So give it a listen, maybe.

_Morning comes slow today. Memories and force of will sustain. Where will I be tomorrow? What will be left to show? Stay, I need you here for a new day to break. Stay, I want you near, like a shadow in my wake. Stay with me, until the day is over._ -"Stay," Poets of the Fall

A new day dawned, but yesterday's troubles accompanied it. No matter how much Talaitha tried, she could not shake them long enough to calm her mind. They clung to her, like burrs cling to one's clothes, keeping sleep at bay and tormenting her with what-ifs. What if she told Balin of Dáin's schemes? What if she told Thorin? What if she stood up to Dáin and refused to leave? Countless times throughout the night, she had nearly leapt out of bed to do all three, but the same, persistent thought always sobered her. Even if her actions did not result in Thorin's death, she was still not a dwarf. That fact wouldn't matter as much if she were courting any other dwarf besides Thorin. But for the king--from the Line of Durin, no less--to marry outside his race would result in either a barren union or the muddying of the royal family. Dwarves already reproduced so rarely and with such difficulty that if there was a chance for Thorin to produce pure heirs, who would sustain the Line of Durin, Talaitha had to step aside.

Dáin's plan was self-serving, but ultimately, it would help the dwarves survive as a race. It was simple evolutionary theory, yet the ramifications were life-changing.

Thorin's lips on her forehead pulled Talaitha from her thoughts.

"Good morning, my fairy."

Her heart constricted at the familiar endearment, and his sleep-tinged voiced rumbled against the hand on his chest.

"Good morning," she replied. "Did you sleep well?"

"Aye, very well," he said, tilting up her chin with a finger. When he saw the dark circles under her eyes, he frowned. "But you did not."

Fearful that she would blurt everything under his concerned gaze, Talaitha tried to duck her head, but Thorin's grip on her chin was firm.

"I didn't snore too loudly, did I?" The corners of his mouth lifted at her quiet laugh.

"No, I'm pleased to report you do not snore. I merely had a headache that kept me awake." She smiled up at him, hoping he would be reassured. "But I'm fine now."

Thorin observed her, considering, then kissed the tip of her nose. "You should sleep. I'm sure Óin can manage without you for the morning."

She knew there would be no sleep for her, but she had no desire to interact with people. After the previous night, feigning normalcy in front of Dáin's smug face was one of the last things she wanted to do. So she lied. Again.

"Yes, I think I'll try to sleep a bit."

Thorin kissed her, brushing his fingers through her tangled strands, before rolling out of bed and tucking her in.

"I shall return at noon to check on you."

Despite her gloom, Talaitha giggled.

"You speak and act as though I were a child."

"Not a child," he whispered and bent down to stroke her cheek. "But precious none the less."

She was glad when Thorin left the room, because she couldn't hold back her tears any longer. Burying her face into his pillow, she cried.

#

It was not yet noon when Thorin returned to his chambers, a folded piece of paper in his hand. Talaitha's name was scrawled upon it, along with a few words in a language he did not recognize. The elvish messenger who had brought it said it was urgent, which only piqued Thorin's curiosity further.

He entered quietly, but he needn't have, for Talaitha had heard his footsteps outside the door. When he saw she was awake, he sat on the bed beside her.

"Did I wake you?"

"Yes," she lied. "But I'm glad." Talaitha noticed the letter in his hand. "What's that?"

"I don't know. It's addressed to you." He gave it to her and watched as she read it, the strange language obviously not so strange to her. Curiosity gave way to concern, as her expression grew steadily more grim.

"It's from my mother," Talaitha explained, letting the parchment fall into her lap. "My sister is gravely ill. She requests that I come home as soon as I can."

Thorin's hand wrapped around hers, and her heart twinged that she had lied to him.

"Of course. If we pack quickly, we can set off today."

Now Talaitha truly felt like a wretch, seeing him open the wardrobe to collect their clothes. She got out of bed and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm going alone, Thorin."

He turned to her, ready to argue, but she silenced his protests with a kiss.

"You have a kingdom to rule and treaties to make. The trade agreement with the Easterlings is far too important," she reasoned. "Besides," Talaitha smiled. "I'm quite accustomed to traveling alone. Before your merry band of dwarves came along, I only had Szélvész."

"But Nemere is a world away," Thorin said, clasping her hands between his. Talaitha saw her grief mirrored in his eyes.

"Almost," Talaitha agreed, with a sad smile. "But you will have plenty to keep you busy."

"Even so, my thoughts will always stray to you, and I shall count the days to your return."

Talaitha didn't reply, for she couldn't bear another lie. She threw her arms around him instead, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He held her for what seemed like hours, placing kisses on her cheek, temple, forehead, and hair, until he felt her pull away. He watched her dress in leather breeches, a blouse, and that familiar brown, leather corset, watched her pack a change of clothes and fill her _tarsoly_ with medicines and plants.

When she withdrew Ezüstlélek from the drawer, he stepped towards her.

"Let me."

Thorin looped the belt around her hips and attached her sword and daggers to it. He then moved behind her, twisting her hair into a simple braid that he draped over her shoulder, and fastened her bow and quiver of arrows onto the baldric.

Once finished, he faced her again to assess her appearance. Bedecked for journey and battle, Talaitha stared back at him, her jaw tense and her mouth set in a hard line. The expression looked wrong on her face.

"I will escort you down," he said, taking her hand. "Do you wish to say goodbye to the others?"

Talaitha nodded and allowed him to lead her into the entrance hall, where they met Nori and Kíli returning from a hunt. At Thorin's request, Nori gathered the rest of the dwarves. All except Dáin were reluctant to see her leave, though he played his part convincingly. She hugged Fíli, Kíli, and Ori and accepted Bofur's kiss upon her knuckles with a smile. Bombur packed her weeks' worth of food, and Óin gave her extra herbs. It was a subdued occasion, which was a rarity for these dwarves.

Thorin went outside with her, waiting as she called Szélvész. The mare, perhaps sensing her mistress' mood, came without her usual pomp.

"Will you at least allow me to accompany you to Mirkwood?"

"To the border," she replied.

They walked along the path in silence, hands tightly joined, with Szélvész following behind. All too soon, the forest loomed before them. Talaitha stopped at the edge and faced Thorin.

"Rule wisely," she said, cupping his cheek. "And be happy."

Thorin's brows creased, and he placed his hand atop hers. "You sound as though we shall never see each other again."

"The journey to Nemere takes many months." Tears welled in her eyes, despite her intention to remain strong. "I fear it will be a long time till next we meet."

He pulled her into his arms to rest his cheek on top of her head, while his hands ran comfortingly up and down her back.

"I will wait," Thorin promised. His voice rumbled in her ear, further soothing her. "Now that we have found each other, we have forever."

She didn't reply, for it would have been yet another lie. He held her for many minutes, and the instant she pulled away, she felt cold and unsteady. He helped her mount Szélvész, his hand lingering until the very last moment.

As Thorin watched the mare walk slowly into Mirkwood, he fought against the urge to run after the szelemér, his throne be damned. But Talaitha was right. Erebor was in too precarious a position for him to leave it now. Yet when Talaitha looked back at him before the trees hid her from view, he felt a part of him had left the mountain anyway.


	51. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin reflects. Dáin paces.

Thorin stood on the wall, bracing himself against the howling wind. Snow swirled around him, the ice crystals tangling in his hair, as he stared unseeingly into the distance. The blizzard had come suddenly and was still unabated three days later, but it hadn't deterred him from his daily sentinel since Talaitha's departure. Logically, he knew she hadn't even reached Nemere yet, but he clung to the fantasy that any day now, he would see her riding up to Erebor.

Not that she would venture outside in such foul weather. Talaitha abhorred the cold. Thorin smiled fondly at the memory of her grumblings in Lake Town. _Mahal_ , how he longed to hear her voice again.

No matter how many tasks occupied his time, his thoughts were unfailingly consumed by the szelemér. Where was she now? Was she safe? Did she think about him, too? Would she really return? His bed was cold without her. It was a persistent, empty reminder of both his fortune and ill luck in loving a woman not of his race.

And loving a woman such as Talaitha.

For he did love her, he knew. But the realization had come too late.

And so Thorin kept vigil, a hand over his aching heart, until his lips were blue from the cold.

Meanwhile, in a room five floors above, another unhappy dwarf paced, while his daughter looked on anxiously.

"It has been two months since the fairy left, and Thorin _still_ will not forget her."

"Why should he?" Nifha asked. "She will return when her sister is recovered, will she not?"

Dáin stopped and regarded her with an exasperated sigh. "Do you truly not understand why you have spent so much time in Erebor as of late?"

"Because I enjoy it here," Nifha replied, but she sounded uncertain. "I have made many friends in the mountain and in Dale."

"Then you are more naive than I believed." Dáin lamented. He glared at her impatiently. "What is Thorin?"

"A king?"

"And what will his wife be?"

"A queen."

Dáin looked at her expectantly, burly arms crossed over his chest, as understanding dawned on Nifha's face.

"You intend for me to marry Thorin Oakenshield."

"Very good, Daughter," he said flatly. "That is now the only way you will be queen."

"But I do not wish to be queen," she protested, voice rising in pitch and volume. "Especially if my husband will not love me. Thorin cares for Talaitha. And I like her."

"Perhaps it was a mistake to keep you from the world, for you lack ambition." Dáin moved to stand before her, leaning down to stroke her cheek. "But you are a sweet girl. Thorin can grow to love you. And even if he does not, you will be queen and mother to kings."

"But I do not want that!" Nifha cried, her hazel eyes wide. "I want-"

Dáin grasped her arms and pulled her up. "What you want is irrelevant. You are of Durin's folk, and you will marry a Durin."

Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away. "You'll be disappointed, Father, because Thorin will not have me even should I desire him."

"My cousin believes he is in love, but he will soon see reason." The dwarf released his daughter and turned his back on her. There was something sinister in his voice, as he said, "I am sure of it."

After Dáin left, Nifha tried to work on her embroidery, but her hands shook too much to follow the pattern. Dáin had never been a particularly warm father, but this behavior shocked and frightened her. Her upper arms smarted from where he had gripped them, and she could still see the determined glint in his eyes. He had always been ambitious, but forcing her to marry Thorin, who was clearly courting another, seemed duplicitous and underhanded.

But what could she do? Everyone was stranded inside Erebor until the blizzard abated, so she couldn't even go home to seek council from her tutor. She might tell Thorin, but she knew her father would react violently if his plan were revealed. Either he would die by Thorin's hand, or the king would by Dáin's. Nifha wanted neither.

A knock sounded on the door, pulling the girl from her ruminations. When she opened it, she smiled at the blond figure standing before her.

"My lady," Fíli greeted, with a short bow. "My brother and I were concerned you may be growing bored and wondered if you'd like to join us in a game."

Nifha glanced back at her ill-fated embroidery, considering. "What sort of game?"

"We are recreating the events of the quest with some of the others, and now that Talaitha has left, we are short a female." Fíli took her hand and smiled at her. "I know you'd rather be exploring outside, but we can pretend to explore inside. Say you will join us."

She laughed. "Of course I will."

Fíli grinned, and Nifha thought his dimples were far too endearing for his own good. Kíli was prone to laughter and teasing, which most dwarf maidens her age would find charming. But it was his brother's more subdued smiles that Nifha preferred. The golden-haired dwarf was calmer and more sincere, and she felt butterflies in her belly whenever those blue eyes gazed at her.

"Shall we, then?" He held out his arm to her and placed his hand over hers when she took it.

Nifha's worries faded during the play, replaced with mirth as Bifur, pretending to be Gandalf, struck down the Great Goblin, portrayed by poor Bombur. And eventually, the howling of the blizzard became the howls of the wargs.

#

In another part of the mountain, Thorin sat with Dáin. He'd lost count of how many goblets of wine they had drunk, for there was little else to do. The alcohol helped numb the constant pain in his chest since Talaitha's departure, and Dáin hoped it would make him more amenable to his plans.

"So, Cousin, have you considered marriage yet?" Dáin asked congenially. "I'm sure there are plenty of women who would consent."

"I...have," Thorin replied, shifting in his chair. He silently cursed Dáin for bringing up the one subject he had wanted to avoid. "But a wife demands too much attention. And thanks to Dís, I have heirs in Fíli and Kíli."

"But would you not like children of your own?"

Thorin's stomach dropped. Of course he would. How many times had he imagined Talaitha swollen with his babe? How many times had he seen her interact with children and wished they were theirs? Until she'd left, the prospect had seemed promising, but now it only filled him with regret.

"I'm too old for children, Dáin," Thorin answered smoothly, despite his inner turmoil. "I remember what Fíli and Kíli were like as dwarflings. Always getting up to mischief." He smiled briefly at the memories. "I have neither the energy nor the time for that anymore."

"Perhaps you would have a daughter," said Dáin. "Nifha was an easy child. Still is."

Thorin refilled his goblet and took a long drink. "No. It now falls upon my nephews to continue the Line of Durin. They are young and lack my cynicism. They would be better husbands and fathers than I."

"But do you not think Erebor deserves a queen? You may unite the dwarf clans with the Arkenstone, but the King under the Mountain must also lead by example." Dáin saw the scowl slowly forming on Thorin's lips but continued. "Your grandfather knew this, as did your father."

"Marriage is impossible." Thorin's tone was tinged with bitterness. "For the only woman I would marry is thousands of miles away."

"Talaitha?" Dáin asked, feigning surprise. "I had assumed she was a dalliance." Thorin's eyes flashed with anger, so the other dwarf amended his sentence. "I just thought that since she was no longer here, your relations with her were over."

"Family matters called her away," Thorin said brusquely.

"Ah, I was mistaken, then. Forgive me, Cousin." Dáin backed off. He had pushed too much and could not risk alienating Thorin.

But little did he know, his interrogation had reawakened Thorin's doubts in himself and in Talaitha. He had often wondered what she had seen in such a stubborn and cantankerous dwarf. Thorin feared the day would come when she would regain her senses. Perhaps the letter from her mother, about a sister she'd never mentioned, had been Talaitha's chance to escape a relationship she'd realized was doomed before it had even begun.

That was not to say she hadn't cared for him. Thorin knew she had. But he also knew Talaitha was pragmatic and restless, not content to remain in one place for very long. Her confession the night he'd thought she'd run away had been a warning, but he had been blinded by his fondness for her and couldn't see it.

Yet Thorin was also blind to Dáin's machinations.

#

The seasons passed. Winter became spring. Spring became summer. And still Talaitha had not returned. Thorin had received a letter from her, informing him she had arrived safely in Nemere, and though her words were affectionate, they were also guarded. She wrote that she missed him but made no mention of the future--of _their_ future.

Nifha had become a near-constant presence in Erebor, much to Thorin's increasing discomfort. He sensed that Dáin was pushing her towards him, which, upon reflection, did not surprise him. His cousin's ambitions had not waned; they'd merely taken another route. He also sensed that she and Fíli had grown close, and pitied the girl. Thorin would not marry her, and he feared Nifha, too, would suffer Dáin's wrath for his refusal. But short of having Dáin imprisoned, he knew not what to do.

Adding to his concerns was the chronic ache in his chest. He'd assumed Talaitha's absence had caused it, but instead of fading with time, it intensified. Did he love her so much that being separated from her physically hurt? Or was the pain unrelated? Thorin knew that elves could die of a broken heart, but he had never heard of the same occurring to dwarves.

The mystery was dispelled only when Gandalf arrived for an impromptu visit.


	52. Climax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Talaitha's secret is finally revealed. 
> 
> A couple foreign names/words in this chapter.  
> 1\. **Emese Selyem** : Pronounced _Em_ -eshe _Shey_ -em. The e's are all like in "Emma."  
> 2\. **Anyu** : Means "mother" or "mama."

"Alina, I need more towels."

Talaitha pressed another cloth into the man's side, trying to staunch the blood. Her patient had been gored by a boar, and the wound was deep. She feared his spleen had ruptured, because his abdomen was tender and his pulse was far too rapid. Mercifully, though, he had fallen unconscious soon after arriving in the healing wards, so she could focus less on being gentle and more on being quick. Surgery was necessary to stitch the tear, but she suspected there was already too much blood in his abdominal cavity, obscuring the view of his internal organs.

"Here they are," said Alina, piling a dozen clean towels onto the table. She had also brought the alcohol, which Talaitha used to sanitize the area into which she would cut. The knife was held over the candle's flame, and Talaitha began.

It was nearly two hours later that she dipped her hands into a bowl of water, watching disinterestedly as it turned red from blood. The man would live. She should have been pleased, but she felt nothing. Upon returning to Nemere, Talaitha had immediately thrown herself into her work, tending to patient after patient with little rest in between. She had waved off her mother's concerns that she was exhausted and continued the daily cycle. Her job was important, she had insisted; people depended on her. But Talaitha knew she was really just trying to stave off her thoughts of Thorin.

With little success, for the twinge in her chest was a sobering reminder.

#

The grey wizard sat across from Thorin in the conference hall, eyeing the iron crown on the table. Typical of dwarvish craftsmanship, it was finely wrought if a little ostentatious, with sharp lines and bold designs. It looked like the dwarves' written language, ancient and runic.

Thorin noticed Gandalf's scrutiny and picked up the crown.

"I wear it only during official events, when I am required to look like a king." He turned it in his hands, gazing at it with an unreadable expression. "I don't think my grandfather would approve."

"Thrór was a different dwarf," said Gandalf. "Most of his life was spent in affluence. Your experiences--your hardships and triumphs--have made you who you are today."

"Aye," Thorin said, bowing his head slightly. He placed the crown back onto the table and folded his hands. "Tell me what news you bring. I doubt you travelled all this way to look upon a royal relic."

"Indeed I have not," the wizard smiled. "The Lady Galadriel believes Smaug's defeat has delayed Sauron's return. He does not yet have his full power, which is why he doesn't reveal himself. But he is not deterred. She senses him lurking on the edges of her awareness, using his link with the One Ring to remain in our world."

"And the ring has not been found?"

A shadow flitted across Gandalf's face. "To my knowledge, no. And until it is, Sauron's reach remains limited."

"The orcs," said Thorin. "Surely they are searching for it."

"It's not the orcs we must worry about," Gandalf murmured grimly. "The Nine who once served him have been freed. I have seen their empty graves myself."

"That is why Sauron initially called himself the Necromancer," mused Thorin. "To raise the Nine from the dead to do his bidding."

The wizard nodded. "I do not know what form they will take, but they undoubtedly search for the ring." Gandalf pulled out his pipe and stuffed it with tobacco from the Shire. "Now let us speak of more pleasant things. You'll not guess who I met in Lothlórien."

"A lot of elves?"

Thorin filled his own pipe and leaned back in his chair, blowing out a smoke ring. Seeing the wizard again had lifted his spirits.

Gandalf chuckled. "Well, yes. But our dear fairy, too."

"Talaitha." Thorin lurched forward, his pipe clattering onto the table. "How was she?"

"Troubled," Gandalf replied, gazing levelly at the dwarf. "I was surprised that she had left Erebor. But then, she had little choice."

"Yes, her sister took ill," Thorin said, with a frown. "But she did not mention her condition in her letter."

"That is because she does not have a sister."

The wizard's blue eyes twinkled, as Thorin's expression transformed from one of confusion to grim understanding.

"Dáin," he growled.

"Dáin," Gandalf confirmed. "Talaitha requested that I warn you of his plot."

But Thorin ignored him. He nearly knocked over his chair as he stormed towards the door, a murderous glint in his eyes. However, before he could confront the other dwarf, Gandalf blocked Thorin's path with his staff.

"You cannot kill him, Thorin," the wizard admonished, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone. "Sit down and _think_."

Thorin obeyed, albeit with a few descriptive curses about shoving a mace up somewhere dark and deep into his cousin's body. He took a deep breath and nodded at Gandalf.

"Now," said the wizard. "Before you move against Dáin, you must be certain you have plenty of support. The reason Talaitha left is because he threatened to kill you if she did not. Whether or not he would have is beside the point, for she believed him."

"She was right to," Thorin said darkly. "It seems that all males in the Line of Durin suffer from some sort of madness--if not gold sickness, then poisonous ambition. Dáin wants power, but even he would only kill his kin as a last resort."

"Which is why he plans for you to marry his daughter."

"Aye," Thorin agreed. "He would then hold power over the queen of Erebor and perhaps its future king."

"It would certainly be an advantageous alliance," Gandalf mused. "For both families."

Thorin's lips twitched. "Advantageous though it may be, Nifha only has eyes for Fíli."

Gandalf arched a curious brow, watching the dwarf closely. "And is that the only reason you would not marry her?"

"Well, no," Thorin murmured and looked down at his folded hands. "But that is irrelevant. We need to find a way to thwart Dáin's plan."

"Without bloodshed, if possible," Gandalf said pointedly. "Gather your allies in secret, for your cousin is surely doing the same."

"I only have Bard and the elvenking," reminded Thorin, his brows creasing. "Dáin has the whole of the Iron Hills."

"You only _need_ Bard and Thranduil. If all three kings stand in opposition, Dáin cannot succeed. And you forget," Gandalf smiled. "You also have a wizard."

The dwarf inclined his head in thanks. "I will not imprison or banish him unless I have no other choice. If Fíli and Nifha are truly fond of each other, perhaps that will appease him."

"Perhaps," Gandalf conceded. "But you must be ready if it does not."

Thorin nodded resolutely.

"I will be."

#

"You've a letter, darling."

Emese Selyem placed the envelope in her daughter's lap and sat down beside her on the sofa. Threading a needle, she began to sew a lace trim onto the neckline of a dress. At her mother's insistence, Talaitha had agreed to spend a few days away from the healing wards, for she was beginning to show signs of strain. Her weight loss had seemed to concern Emese the most, if the frequent offers to cook Talaitha's favorite foods were any indication. And though Talaitha was reluctant to admit it, she _had_ missed being spoiled by her mother. Back in her childhood home, she could almost forget about Thorin.

"It's from Bilbo," Talaitha remarked, with a grin. She noticed Emese's puzzled expression and added, "You know, my hobbit friend."

"Oh yes, the burglar."

Talaitha had told her parents about the quest, omitting the more personal details regarding Thorin, but had immediately regretted doing so when she had reached the part about Smaug. In hindsight, she could have omitted that bit, too. The horror on their faces and the subsequent scolding she'd received had convinced her to fib about the extent of her participation in the Battle of the Five Armies. They did not know that their only daughter had healed the king of Erebor.

"Bilbo says his cousin tried to steal his silver spoons while he was gone," Talaitha giggled. "And that now the children follow him around town, begging for stories of his adventures."

"I'm sure their parents are thrilled," Emese quipped, cutting the thread. She measured another piece of lace to sew onto the bottom hem. "From what you've told me, it seems like hobbits are as averse to adventure as we are."

"As _you_ are, _Anyu_ ," Talaitha sighed. "I happen to like it."

"Yes, and I have no idea who you got that from. No one in our family has crossed the sea, though some have ventured up north."

Talaitha laughed. "That is hardly the same thing." She folded the letter and slid it back into its envelope.

"No, I suppose it isn't," Emese agreed. Looking up from her sewing, she saw that her daughter was gazing out the window. "You cannot fool me, you know. I'm your mother. I've noticed the faraway look in your eyes."

"There are people I miss," Talaitha shrugged.

"A certain dwarf, perhaps?" asked Emese. Her daughter didn't reply, but she closed her eyes at his mention. "It's the king, isn't it."

"Thorin," Talaitha said automatically, then nodded slowly. "How did you know?"

"More emotion crosses your face when you speak of him than of anyone else," Emese replied. "Sometimes it's happiness. Sometimes it's frustration. And other times, it's sadness."

Talaitha fiddled with the skirt of her dress, picking at the embroidered trim. "He's a complicated dwarf. I don't know what else to say, _Anyu_."

"Did you leave Middle-earth because of him?"

"Not exactly," she hedged. "It's complicated. There were factors out of our control."

Emese stuck the needle into the fabric and took her daughter's hands. "You know, when my sister met Árpád, there were factors out of their control, too."

Talaitha arched a brow. "Are you saying I should have stayed in Erebor?"

"That's not how I meant it," said Emese pointedly. "But if you want something, you should not allow others to deter you from it. You certainly didn't let _me_."

Talaitha smiled. "I appreciate what you're saying, but the situations are different. I cannot tell you more yet, but I did what I had to and am slowly finding peace with it."

"Then I'm glad," said Emese, leaning forward to kiss her daughter's forehead. "Now fetch a needle and some thread, because I have ten gowns due at the end of the week."

#

When Dáin returned to Erebor that month, he was greeted by an unpleasant surprise. Thorin met him in the entrance hall, flanked by Thranduil, Bard, and Gandalf, along with his twelve loyal dwarves.

"Is there a celebration I was not told about?" Dáin asked, with exaggerated cheer.

"Not a celebration," Thorin replied and nodded almost imperceptibly. Dwalin and Glóin stepped forward, each placing a firm hand on Dáin's shoulders. "But there is an occasion nonetheless."

"Take your hands off me," Dáin snapped, trying to pull away. The grips became bruising, and he was forced down to his knees. He stopped struggling. "So you know, then."

Thorin arched a brow, staring passively at his cousin. "Of your attempted treason? Yes, I know."

"Surely wishing for my daughter to marry the king is not treasonous," Dáin scoffed.

"No, it is not," agreed Thorin, striding towards the kneeling dwarf. "But threatening to kill the king _is_." His calm, somewhat amused demeanor was replaced by a much tenser one, as he regarded his cousin. "That is a crime punishable by death."

Dáin glared up at Thorin. "You would not kill your own kin. Your little dalliance with the fairy has made you soft. It has blinded you to what is best for our people."

Dwalin's and Glóin's holds tightened in warning, while Fíli and Kíli surged forward in defense of their uncle. Thranduil held up a hand to stop them. Dáin was questioning Thorin's authority, so any aid from Thorin's supporters would only weaken it.

"And clearly you believe that my marrying your daughter is in our people's best interest," Thorin remarked dryly. "Could it be that you are confusing what's best for our kin with what's best for you?" The question was rhetorical. Dáin tried to answer it anyway but was interrupted by Thorin. "I have deliberated over your treachery and have decided upon an appropriate punishment."

Thorin moved to where the others stood and took the parchment Gandalf proffered. "By the power vested in me as King under the Mountain, before Bard, King of Dale and Master of Lake Town; Thranduil, King of the Woodland Realm; the wizard, Gandalf the Grey; and my kin, I pass down the following decree:

"Dáin II Ironfoot, for your crime of attempted treason, you are to be stripped of all titles and are never to step foot into Erebor again."

Dáin's jaw clenched, and fury lit his eyes. "That is a fate worse than death."

"For you, yes," Thorin said somberly. He took no pleasure in what he had done.

"And all because of that wench," Dáin spat.

Thorin was upon him before the dwarf could blink.

"You will not speak ill of her," the king hissed, his fingers curling around the hilt of his sword. "Make no mistake, Cousin, if you _ever_ threaten me or my own again, I will not hesitate to kill you."

The two regarded each other with matching baleful glares, until Dáin cleared his throat, as if Thorin hadn't just nearly attacked him.

"And what of my daughter?"

"Nifha is innocent and therefore remains welcome in Erebor." Thorin stepped back, lest he did something he would regret. "Leave now, Dáin, and heed my warning. I will not be so merciful the next time."

Dwalin and Glóin released the dwarf, who stood with a snort. "Merciful." Dwalin's hand twitched towards his weapon, and Dáin scowled. "All right, I'm going."

Only when the doors had shut behind his cousin did Thorin allow his shoulders to sag in relief. He knew his actions had been necessary, but that was little comfort to him. He was sorry Nifha had been dragged into this. Her father was disgraced by being stripped of his title as Lord of the Iron Hills, but she, too, would bear his shame. Who would take his place, Thorin did not yet know, but Dáin's councilors would keep things running until a new lord was named. Thorin had expected the councilors to protest their leader's demotion, but they had seemed neither angry nor grieved by it. He suspected Dáin had not been the most gracious of superiors.

While the others dispersed, Thranduil followed Thorin into the conference hall, watching as the dwarf placed the heavy crown upon the table. He gestured for the elf to sit and poured two goblets of red wine.

Thranduil inclined his head in that serene way he had and took a sip. "Ah, my favorite vintage."

"Is it now," Thorin muttered. He eyed the dark liquid with distaste, before drinking it. To his irritation, the wine was exquisite. But he would never admit that aloud. "What did you wish to speak to me about?"

"Talaitha." When the dwarf made no response, Thranduil continued. "My son received a letter from her. Apparently she has been promoted to one of her city's head healers."

"Oh?" Thorin stared at his goblet, swirling its contents slowly.

"You do not sound pleased," Thranduil observed.

"I do not sound _dis_ pleased either."

"True," the elvenking mused. "Not about _that_ news, at least." He fell silent, his keen hearing picking up his companion's slight change in breathing. "Erebor is restored. Your people prosper in their true home once more. But a shadow hangs over you, Thorin Oakenshield."

The dwarf frowned. Thranduil's words had hit too close for comfort.

"I cannot help worrying how long this peace will last." That wasn't a lie, for Sauron _had_ been on his mind as of late. But the Dark Lord wasn't why a shadow lingered. Whatever joy he had attained from being home with his nephews and friends, from seeing Erebor and his kin restored could not compensate for how incomplete he felt. His chest twinged, and he instinctively placed a hand upon it.

"Curious," murmured Thranduil. "Talaitha made the same motion when I saw her in Lothlórien."

"What motion?" Thorin asked.

But Thranduil ignored the question.

"The szelemér are an intriguing race, blessed with many gifted healers." Thorin knew this and waited impatiently for the elf, who appeared to be deep in thought, to continue. "You and your nephews sustained fatal injuries, yet you all three survived. Do you know how?"

"Of course I do," Thorin snapped. "Talaitha healed us."

"Oh, she did much more than that." Thranduil leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs. He looked very unlike an elf, then, in that casual repose. "You see, some szelemér heal with magic, and whatever magic they expend, eventually replenishes. Their gift is weakened until it does, but there are no adverse effects to their health." He paused, watching Thorin for a reaction. "But there are those few szelemér who can heal using their own energy. It is known as soul healing and is much more powerful than magical healing. It provides the ill and injured with pure, warm energy that is capable of sustaining a body until it can heal itself. Magical healing is sometimes less effective, as it introduces a foreign energy into the body. But soul healing is remarkable, because the energy given is one that all beings possess."

Thorin's eyes widened in comprehension, and his hands clenched into fists.

"Talaitha gave me part of her soul."

Thranduil nodded. "Usually only a small amount is given, just enough to fortify the body, and only when truly necessary. When the injuries are grave, however, more energy is required." He gave Thorin a meaningful look. "Most soul healers simply cannot share the sufficient amount, so the danger to them is minimal."

"But Talaitha..." Thorin broke off, raising his troubled gaze to Thranduil's much calmer one. "What are you not telling me?" he demanded.

"Thorin," the elf began, and the softening of his features made the dwarf's heart sink. "By the time Talaitha reached you, death had nearly taken you. She was exhausted after healing not only your nephews, but many others, as well. Nevertheless, she managed to pull you back from the brink, though at a heavy price."

Thranduil straightened, his eyes as sad as Thorin had ever seen them.

"Unlike magic, one's soul cannot be replenished."

In that moment, Thorin's entire world collapsed. He felt sick, felt the bile rising into his throat. The ache in his chest intensified, and he wasn't sure if the strangled gasp that passed unbidden from his lips was a result of the pain or of the elf's terrible words. His stomach roiled, and his head filled with a dull throb. He could barely see Thranduil anymore, for he was no longer in Erebor, but was lying bloodied and torn on the battlefield again.

"It nearly killed her," Thorin whispered, remembering that he had indeed believed her dead upon first glance. He closed his eyes and willed the nausea to pass. "What _exactly_ did saving me cost her?"

"At least half her remaining years."

"Are you certain?" His voice trembled slightly.

"I am," Thranduil replied, sounding contrite. "There have been other soul healers in the past who have done what she has, but none of the younger ones lived past 600 years." The elf paused, considering his next words. "Talaitha is 177-years-old. That is young for a szelemér. She still has hundreds of years ahead of her."

"Is that meant to reassure me?" the dwarf hissed. He stood and began to pace. "That foolish, _reckless_ woman. She should have let me die!" Before Thranduil could stop him, Thorin punched the wall, his knuckles striking the unyielding marble with a sickening crunch. He was sure he had broken a few fingers, but he didn't care. The woman he loved had sacrificed part of her life for his.

"Why?" he growled, moving towards Thranduil until they were approximately eye-to-eye.

The elf glanced at Thorin's bloody hand, then at his face, which was a mask of anger and anguish.

"I think you already know."

Thorin met Thranduil's gaze for an instant, before turning and striding from the room.


	53. Resolution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reunion, some food, some fun, and some love. 
> 
> _A/N: If you want to, listen to "Morning Tide" by Poets of the Fall, because it's basically Thorin and Talaitha's theme song. Also, one of the healers in this chapter is named **Anasztáz** , which means "to resurrect."_
> 
> If you enjoyed this story, keep an eye out for _The Ballad of Thorin and Talaitha_ , a sequel of sorts in the form of one-shots. Thank you for reading, "kudo-ing", and commenting! <3

_Rise with me now, and we'll walk to the shore. We'll look over the waves to the break of day. And I'll hold your hand. I'll hold you close. I'll wipe away your tears, and no one will know. Come to me now, and together we'll go where the clearer winds blow, far and beyond. Leaving behind all our sorrow and pride. Kissing them goodbye into another life.  
_ -"Morning Tide" Poets of the Fall

Thorin disembarked from the ship, glancing around at his surroundings. The harbor, larger than any he had seen, was full of boats and ships ferrying goods between Nemere and Middle-earth. For a race that didn't venture far from home, the szelemér nevertheless participated in trade with the elves and men living along Middle-earth's southwestern coast. Dwarves, though, were rarely encountered, as evidenced by the fairies' blatant stares.

The next thing Thorin noticed was the szelemér's varying heights. Some were dwarf-sized, while others were as tall as small men. He would have blended in with the crowd had it not been for his physique, which was twice as muscular as most of the men's. Thorin was surprised to note, however, that the males were less effeminate than their elvish counterparts, though few bore facial hair.

During his observation of the people, he had lost track of his direction and ended up in the city leading from the harbor. Shop signs were written in Szila, the szelemér's strange language, that Thorin only recognized because the letter Talaitha had received was written in it. He must have looked lost, for a woman about his height offered to help.

"Are you searching for a particular shop?" she asked. Her accent was heavier than Talaitha's, but at least she spoke the Common Tongue.

"No, I am on my way to Lelle," he replied. "Do you know which way it is?"

"North, but it is too far to walk. You must take a horse," she said. "Turn left at the end of this street, and you will find the stables."

"Thank you."

The woman smiled. "No, thank you. I have never met a dwarf before." Then she picked up her satchel and continued towards the docks.

It occurred to him that he should have asked where to buy food, but through trial and error, he managed to find a tavern, and soon, he was ready to go.

As the horse galloped north along the road, Thorin lost himself in his thoughts. He had no idea what sort of welcome he would receive at journey's end.

#

_Three days later_

Talaitha rubbed a healing salve onto the boy's arm, wincing as a layer of dead skin flaked off from the worst of the burns. Though she was gentle, they still oozed and bled. She had already tended to his torso, which was peppered with angry, red welts, and was about to begin wrapping his arm, when she heard someone enter the room.

Looking up, she breathed in sharply and nearly dropped the ceramic bowl containing the ointment.

"What happened to him?" Thorin asked, nodding towards the boy. His eyes shone with sympathy, for he recognized those wounds for what they were.

She stared at him in disbelief, mouth slightly open, before she realized he had asked her a question.

"He... His home caught fire, with him and his parents still inside it." Talaitha set down the bowl and began wrapping a clean, white bandage around the boy's arm. She had to keep her hands occupied to stop herself from rushing into his arms. "Some of his burns are quite severe. I've given him an herbal mixture that will keep him asleep during much of his recovery, or else the pain would be unbearable."

"So the burns will heal?" asked Thorin, walking closer.

"There will be scarring. But yes, they'll heal." Talaitha did not look at him. "It's a powerful balm."

"As is the healer," Thorin remarked.

Talaitha's eyebrows furrowed, then she frowned. "Gandalf told you."

"Thranduil did."

"Really?" she wondered. "That's unexpected."

"The messenger is of no consequence," said Thorin, his voice suddenly hard. "Why did you do it?"

She sighed, wiping her hands on her apron, and finally looked at Thorin. "Why do you think? You were so close."

"So close to what?"

"To Erebor. To becoming King under the Mountain." Talaitha sat on the edge of the boy's bed. "To finally reaping the rewards of what you sacrificed so much for."

Long, determined strides had him looming over her, his eyes alight with fury. "How could I reap any rewards knowing you had lost half your remaining years saving me?"

"There was a reason I didn't _tell_ you," she murmured, staring at his boots. "I swear that wizard's penchant for meddling is contagious."

He grasped her arms roughly and pulled her up. "Tell me the truth," he growled. "Why did you save me?"

"I just told you," she snapped. "I didn't want your quest to have been in vain. You'd dedicated your life to it, and it seemed too cruel a fate to be denied its completion."

"That's not all, though."

Thorin's hold tightened, not out of anger, but out of something akin to desperation. He had to know if what Thranduil said was true.

Talaitha gazed up at him, the green eyes he had missed so much shining with tears.

"Please..." she whispered.

Her soft plea pained him, squeezing his heart like a vise. In that moment, she looked so fragile and small, nothing like the strong, spirited healer he had gotten to know on the journey. He released her and stepped back, watching carefully for her reaction. But she didn't move, didn't rub her arms where he had gripped her. The fear he'd seen on her face had not been because of him.

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head slowly. "Ever since you left, I have felt incomplete. An ache has settled in my chest, and I needed to know why. But I see now that my coming here was a mistake."

He turned to leave, but her fingers on his wrist stopped him.

"You feel that way because a part of my soul now resides within you." She offered him a wan smile. "I feel it, too. It's the price I paid to save the man I love."

Though Thranduil had suggested the same thing, hearing the confession from Talaitha's lips sent Thorin reeling. His head felt light, like it would float away if he weren't careful. His heart beat with a renewed hope that seared through his body. And, unsurprisingly, the pain in his chest was gone.

For the first time in nearly a year, Thorin felt whole again.

But Talaitha knew none of what he was experiencing. All she saw was the stunned expression on his face. She wrung her soiled apron in her hands in a habit that indicated unease.

"Say something."

He smiled so brightly that Talaitha's lips parted in surprise. Standing there in her simple healer's dress and apron smeared with blood and balms, with her fiery hair in a braid over her shoulder, Thorin thought she had never been more beautiful. He couldn't resist any longer. He pulled her to him and kissed her.

The action had been sudden, and, for an instant, Talaitha was rigid against him. Then slowly, she kissed him back, her mouth moving with his. Her head spun from the sensations of his warm lips upon hers and of his beard lightly scraping her chin. She had missed this, had missed _him_ , far more than she had allowed herself to admit.

After a while, Thorin pulled away, suppressing the urge to continue kissing her. He knew where his desire would lead them, and though he longed to follow it, there were things they needed to discuss.

"I still do not understand completely," he said, contenting himself with holding her hands.

Talaitha arched a skeptical brow. "I think you just want to hear my confession again."

"I do," he smiled. "But I also speak the truth."

"Very well," she relented and grew serious. "I presume Thranduil explained soul healing?"

Thorin nodded and squeezed her hands in what he hoped was a reassuring manner. She smiled slightly, as some of the tension left her.

"Well, obviously my body doesn't want me expending all of my energy, so there's a safeguard in place. If healing someone could harm me, my gift will balk. It's a warning, but I can overcome it."

She paused, looking up at him nervously.

"If, however, healing someone could kill me, my ability will refuse to work, no matter how hard I force it. But there is an exception."

"You must love that person," he said softly.

"Yes." Her voice hitched. "More than I love myself. That's why I fell unconscious after tending to you. Bringing you back from near-death required sharing a large part of my soul."

Talaitha breathed deeply, no longer caring that she had laid herself figuratively bare before Thorin. Ever since she'd awoken in Bard's tent, she had stringently avoided reflecting on her actions. She had denied their significance to herself and to others, though annoyingly, both Gandalf and Thranduil seemed aware of it. But Thorin was not, and she had taken care to keep it that way. Thus, this was as much an admission to herself as it was to him. She felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

"Thank you," he said, gaze meeting hers. His eyes held such unrestrained joy that Talaitha's chest tightened with emotion. She had admitted the truth to him, but had that changed anything?

Her mind raced with questions, while she and Thorin watched each other. Why had he come? Had Gandalf told him of Dáin's plan, like she'd requested? Or had Thorin already married Nifha? If he had, then why had he kissed her? If he hadn't, then what did that kiss mean?

But she asked none of those, for she didn't think she could bear the answers.

"Now that your curiosity has been sated, you can return to Erebor."

She tried to remain impassive, but when he brought her hands to his lips, a small sound escaped her throat.

"I shall return to Erebor," he said, smiling. "But not without the woman I love."

Talaitha yearned to throw her arms around his neck, but Dáin's words still rang in her ears. No matter how self-serving his motives were, she could not deny their underlying truth.

"You must," she said, pulling away from Thorin. The flash of disappointment in his eyes was like a kick to the gut. "As king, you are expected to sire heirs, which I cannot give you."

He regarded her with affectionate amusement. "I see no reason why not. You are female, and I am male."

"I'm serious, Thorin. Dáin made it very clear that our offspring, should they be possible, would muddy the Line of Durin."

"He had no authority to say that to you," Thorin hissed. "It is _my_ choice whom I love. Not Dáin's, not my kin's, and not even yours. I had a right to know, Talaitha. You should have come to me, instead of fabricating that story about your ill sister."

Talaitha winced, staring down at the ground. "That story was the only believable reason I could think of to leave Erebor. I did what I had to."

"You lied!" He gripped her chin and forced her to look at him.

"I had no choice! Dáin threatened to kill you and your nephews if I told you. I had to lie, and I had to leave." She wrenched away from his hold and turned her back to him. "You have no idea how it felt, Thorin. It was the hardest thing I've ever done."

He softened, regretting his anger towards Talaitha. Her reason for leaving him had been false, but the emotion he'd seen outside Mirkwood had been genuine. Thorin stepped up behind her to lean in close.

"That is why I'm not leaving without you," he whispered. "I love you, Talaitha Borvirág."

"But Nifha-"

"Is not and will never be my wife." He kissed her neck, smiling at her answering shiver.

"But I'm not a dwarf."

"I am well aware of that." He wrapped his arms around her middle and rested his chin on her shoulder. "There is no law that says the king must wed a dwarf maiden. And if there were, I would change it."

"I am also no maiden," she murmured, bringing another smile to his lips. "The only reason that law doesn't exist is because you're the first dwarf king to entertain thoughts of marrying outside his race."

"I intend to do more than just _entertain_ them. And before you suggest it," said Thorin, correctly ascertaining her thoughts. "Dáin is powerless to draft such a law."

Talaitha turned in his arms, looking up at him warily. "Not powerless because he's dead, I hope."

"No. Merely stripped of title," he assured, with a kiss to her forehead. "Have you finished protesting now?"

"These are legitimate concerns, Thorin. Don't mock me for them."

"I know they're legitimate," he placated. "I, too, have deliberated over them. The Line of Durin will endure through Fíli and Kíli. Or if we have children, it will endure through them."

"Only partly, because they will be half szelemér."

"And is that so bad?"

"I'm sure your kin would think so."

Thorin sighed and released her. "Some may," he agreed. "But I shall remind them that were it not for you, they would be calling Dáin king now."

"It's not that _simple_ ," she said, exasperated.

"Yes, it is." He started to reach for her hand, then stopped, watching her closely, almost apprehensively. "Unless, of course, this is merely a convoluted way to tell me you do not want me."

Talaitha was about to refute the suggestion, when she realized he had good reason to doubt her. He had traveled nearly a thousand miles to see her, to bring her back to Erebor, and all she'd done was argue with him.

Her expression softened, as she cupped his cheek. "Then I am wrong to make you think that. I want you, Thorin." She kissed him, allowing her lips to linger. "And I love you."

His eyes closed, and he rested his forehead against hers. "I have done all I can to reassure you, Talaitha. What more do you want?"

"I-"

"If you truly do not wish to be queen, I will crown Fíli as my heir apparent and step down."

"No!" she objected, eyes widening. "I would never want that."

"Then what can I do?" Thorin demanded harshly, but the slump of his proud shoulders betrayed his desperation.

"Nothing." He looked at her, startled. "You can do nothing, for you have already done everything."

"What are you saying?" he asked, gazing down at her with such hope that her eyes prickled with tears.

"I'm _saying_ that I have been a pessimistic fool," she replied. "I'm also saying that you will not return to Erebor alone."

"Thank Mahal," he breathed and pulled her into his strong arms.

He held her against his body so tightly that her ribs protested. But she clung to him just as fiercely, as if expecting the fates to pluck him away in punishment for daring to challenge them. A dwarf and a szelemér should never have met, let alone fallen in love, and Thorin should have died on the battlefield. Talaitha had paid the price for her interference with half her life. Had that been enough?

They were so lost in each other's warmth that they didn't notice their audience until she cleared her throat. Thorin nearly toppled a chair in his haste to put distance between himself and Talaitha.

"Alina!" Talaitha blushed. "This is Thorin Oakenshield. He was just...visiting."

"Hello, Thorin," greeted the healer. Her eyes were sparkling with amusement when she turned to Talaitha. "I just came to tell you that I can take over your shift for the rest of the day."

Talaitha's guilty gaze flitted to the dwarf. "That's really not necessary."

"Of course it is," Alina insisted. "Consider it repayment for when I had to leave early last week."

Talaitha hesitated, but her friend was already untying her apron and pushing her gently towards the door.

"All right, I'm going," she laughed.

"And you'd better not be in before noon tomorrow!"

Talaitha shot Alina a mock-glare, before she pulled Thorin from the room.

"Are all szelemér women so assertive?" he asked.

"No. You just seem to attract the ones who are."

Thorin laughed. "There are worse things to attract."

"You attract those, too," she said, deadpan.

"I did not travel almost a thousand miles to endure your cheek." He saw her raised eyebrows and added, "Well, not _only_."

She took his hand and laced their fingers together. "Then let me show you my city."

"I would like that," he said, smiling.

The first place she led him was the market, which was bustling with so much activity that Thorin didn't know where to look. Vendors sold everything from traditional szelemér food and goods to more exotic pieces, such as elvish books and mithril jewelry. But Talaitha was not distracted by the shiny objects, unlike Thorin. She headed towards a particular stall and returned with a tray of red sausage, something flat and bread-like, and a goblet for each of them.

" _Mangalica_ sausage, _lángos_ , and raspberry water," she explained, as they sat down on a bench.

"I can guess what raspberry water is."

He bit into the fried, golden bread and was pleasantly surprised. He had expected plain bread, but it was crispy on the outside and soft on the inside. When he sprinkled a bit of salt onto it, Thorin decided it was superior to the doughy foods the dwarves had.

That's _lángos_ ," said Talaitha. She cut a piece of the sausage and offered it to him. "And this is made from pigs that are only found in Nemere."

Thorin allowed her to feed him, and if he thought the _lángos_ was good, the _mangalica_ sausage was possibly the most delicious thing he had tasted. It was full of garlic and spices, but the flavor of the meat was not overwhelmed by them. He knew he was eating pork, yet it was more delicate and nuanced.

"I may have to abdicate the throne, after all," he remarked.

Talaitha grinned. When they had finished eating, she took him to the center of the market, where women in colorful, voluminous skirts danced to music from flutes and drums. On their thumbs and middle fingers, they wore _zils_ , which clinked to the beat. A few of the dancers cartwheeled and flipped, as the audience clapped.

"Their stomachs are bared," Thorin observed. He remembered Talaitha's dress with the sheer midriff. "Is this common attire for szelemér females?"

"Not really. It's ceremonial," she replied. "Both the clothing and the movements symbolize freedom and playfulness."

He watched two of the women undulate their hips, their abdomens rippling fluidly and gracefully.

"Or sensuality," he murmured.

"That, too," Talaitha smirked. "Many szelemér girls learn this type of dance. It's a part of our folk heritage."

Thorin's eyes darkened, as he looked at Talaitha. "Did you learn it?"

"Yes, but it's been decades since I've danced it."

"I see," he said.

She took his hand and pulled him away from the crowd, but not before he had begun imaging her swaying nearly half-naked to earthy music.

They passed statues of famous szelemér, whose histories Talaitha knew by heart. Thorin was initially surprised at how many of them were healers, but then he recalled her saying that Nemere was home to a disproportionate number of them, due to the island's abundance of medicinal plants.

Talaitha stopped in front of a white marble statue of a man.

"This is Anasztáz, one of the first soul healers." She touched the bust and bowed her head in reverence. "He gave his life to save his daughter, who was dying from a terrible illness."

"Is Alina like you?" Thorin asked.

"A soul healer, you mean?" He nodded. "No, but she's one of Lelle's best healers."

"How many soul healers are there in Nemere?"

Talaitha shrugged. "Not many. I'm sure our council has records of us, but I've never checked them."

As they continued their walk through the city, Thorin admired the clean streets and stone architecture. Some of the buildings were adorned with colorful tiles, while others were monochrome. Signs were written in both Szila and the Common Tongue, which Talaitha explained was a rarity in Nemere, since few outsiders visited.

"I probably should have asked this sooner, but where did you stable your horse?"

"Not far from the entrance into the city," he replied. "It was near the bridge that spanned the river."

"Good, it's on our way, then."

It didn't take them long to arrive at the stables, where Talaitha instructed Thorin to saddle his gelding. When he inquired about Szélvész, Talaitha told him that she had rejoined her herd after returning to Nemere. They still saw each other almost daily, and the mare spent days in the city with the fairy. Just like in Middle-earth, she enjoyed the attention the children lavished on her. Talaitha would often find her with her mane and tail braided and reluctant to come home.

"I have to ride with you until we reach Szélvész," said Talaitha, allowing Thorin to help her onto the horse. "You don't mind, do you?"

He sat in the saddle behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"I definitely do not mind," he whispered into her nape.

The gelding trotted from the stables, gradually picking up speed as the cobblestones gave way to softer turf. In the distance, Thorin spied a herd of horses and directed his mount towards it. A black and white mare broke off from the group, whinnying loudly in greeting. Before the gelding had even stopped, Talaitha slid from the saddle and met Szélvész. She wasted no time in pulling herself onto the mare's back.

They rode through golden fields of wheat and sunflowers, through flower-speckled meadows and bright red poppies. There was _life_ and vibrant color everywhere Thorin looked. Glancing up at the cloudless sky, he suddenly understood why Nemere meant "on the meadows of the sun."

After an hour, they stopped near a small stream to allow the horses to drink and graze. While Talaitha removed the gelding's tack, Szélvész eyed Thorin curiously between bites of grass. The dwarf plucked a light blue flower, then offered it to the mare, who began to follow him as he searched for something in the meadow.

"What are you doing?" Talaitha asked, amused. "And why is Szélvész trailing you like a lost puppy?"

At the mention of her name, the mare lifted her head. There was a half-chewed flower in her mouth.

Thorin shrugged. "Maybe she likes me."

"Not you," Talaitha laughed. "The cornflowers you're feeding her." She walked towards him, smiling at the plant he held. "But that's not a cornflower."

"No, it's not." He returned her smile and tucked the blue borage into her hair. "It's your epithet."

She touched the flower, her heart warmed by the simple yet sweet gesture.

"I would find you an oak branch, but I fear I cannot fashion it into a shield."

Thorin chuckled and gazed down at her fondly.

"I think you were always meant to save me," he said, as he stroked her cheek. "And I don't mean from death."

"Do you mean from permanently becoming a cantankerous dwarf?"

Her serious, almost solemn tone was belied by the mischievous twinkle in her eyes.

"Watch your tongue, fairy," he warned, though the corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly.

"Or you'll do what?"

He leaned forward, his nose brushing hers. "Or I shall put it to better use."

"Bold words," she challenged. Her breath fluttered over his lips, tempting him. "Prove it."

Before Thorin could do just that, Talaitha gathered up the skirt of her dress and took off through the meadow, leaving a somewhat disgruntled dwarf in her wake. He ran after her, secretly enjoying the chase, especially when Szélvész and the gelding joined in on the game. Talaitha would allow Thorin to nearly catch her, then she would suddenly veer in a different direction, so that he, with his heavier and wider frame, would turn too late. She'd used the same tactic on Dwalin when they had sparred in Rivendell, and on Thorin, as well. But like in Rivendell, he began to anticipate her movements.

On her next feint, he caught her around the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder, smirking at her indignant protests. The horses followed them, eyeing the laughing, squirming woman curiously, until Thorin finally set her down.

"I believe I win," he teased, but when he looked at her, his playful demeanor faltered.

Her hair had come loose from its braid to trail wavy and wild in the breeze. Her cheeks, pink from the exertion of their chase, flushed even further under his warm gaze.

"You are beautiful," he breathed, cupping the back of her neck.

Talaitha watched him, noticing how his pupils dilated, despite the sunlight. His usual, stern countenance had softened, transforming his face in a way that even now mesmerized her. She didn't need to touch his soul to see it, for in moments like these, he willingly revealed it to her.

"You really came for me," she whispered.

"Did you think I would not?"

"I hoped you would," she confessed. "But I also hoped you wouldn't."

Thorin sighed, though the affection had not left his eyes. "Nothing is ever straightfoward with you."

"No, and I doubt it ever shall be." Her expression was one of mock gravity, as she said, "You should probably leave while you still can."

"Not even if you were Thranduil's daughter would I leave you."

A wry smile graced Talaitha's lips. "That says something indeed."

"Yes," he replied, kissing her forehead. "It says that you have prevented me from permanently becoming a cantankerous dwarf."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, while his hands settled on her waist.

"Then I am much relieved."

End

**Author's Note:**

> Hello fellow _Hobbit_ fans! I come bearing a Thorin/OFC story. As _Soul Healing_ was written before _Desolation of Smaug_ and _Battle of the Five Armies_ , it's a combination of book- and movie-verse, with more book-verse after _An Unexpected Journey_.
> 
> Though I have endeavored to remain true to canon with the characters' personalities (mostly), I've taken quite a few liberties with this story. First, there is a non-canon race that is featured heavily. I've woven this race into Middle-earth's history as seamlessly as I could, without changing the heart of Tolkien's work. Second, I took inspiration from Hungarian mythology and history for my invented race.
> 
> For height comparisons, I used WETA's chart. Talaitha is 4'6'', Bilbo is 4'2'', Kíli is 4'5'', and Thorin is 4'11'' (I rounded him up).
> 
> Character representations and other relevant images can be found in "Soul Healing Images" from my profile. Pronunciation guides of the invented race's language can be found below. For a link to the audio, visit "Soul Healing Images". 
> 
> **Disclaimer** : Only non-Tolkien characters are mine. Obviously. >>
> 
>    
> Chapter Pronunciations ( _Italics_ indicate the syllable the stress is on):
> 
>  1. Talaitha Borvirág: Tull- _eye_ -tha _Bor_ -viraahg (roll the r's)
> 
> Meaning: Talaitha is a Romani (Gypsy) name that means "damsel, maiden." _Borvirág_ is Hungarian for "borage," which is an herb used by some cultures to heal gastrointestinal, cardiovascular, and respiratory ailments. It has pretty star-shaped blue, purple, and white flowers.
> 
>  
> 
> 2\. Nemere: Pronounced like it's spelled--the e's are like in "bell" and the r is rolled.
> 
> Meaning: Ancient Hungarian for "meadows of the sun." Also a god in Hungarian mythology.
> 
>  
> 
> 3\. Szelemér: _Sell_ -e-mare. Both e's are like in "sell."
> 
> Meaning: Ancient Hungarian name meaning "progeny, descendent."
> 
>  
> 
> 4\. Kund Földes: Koond. The last name is more difficult. The "ö" sounds like the "ea" in "early." So think of that. _Feal_ -desh.
> 
> Meaning: Kund was an ancient lord. The name was used by both the Hungarians and the Turks. In Hungarian it meant "leader, lord." In Turkish it meant "respected." Földes is Hungarian for "of the earth."
> 
>  
> 
> 5\. Aeronwen: _Ayer_ -on-wen
> 
> Meaning: Welsh for "white, fair, blessed."
> 
>  
> 
> 6\. Tarsoly: _Tar_ -shoy (r is rolled)
> 
> A folk Hungarian pouch that hangs from a belt.
> 
>  
> 
> 7\. Szélvész: _Sail_ -vaise
> 
> Meaning: Archaic Hungarian word for "tempest, storm."
> 
>  
> 
> 8\. Szürkevándorló: The "ü" sounds closest to the French "eu" in "dieu." So, _seurke_ -vaahndor-low.
> 
> Meaning: Hungarian translation of Gandalf and Mithrandir. Literally means "gray wanderer."
> 
>  
> 
> 9\. Thamina: Arabic for "healthy."
> 
>  
> 
> 10\. Emese Selyem: _Em_ -eshe _Shey_ -em. All the e's are pronounced like in Emily.
> 
> Meaning: Emese is an ancient Hungarian name that means "mother," and _selyem_ is Hungarian for "silk."
> 
>  
> 
> 11\. Tardos Acél: _Tar_ -dosh _Ats_ -ail.
> 
> Meaning: Tardos is an ancient Hungarian name that means "to stop" or "to stay." _Acél_ is Hungarian for "steel."
> 
>  
> 
> 12\. Szila: _See_ -luh. (Approximately)
> 
> Meaning: None. But I did take it from "Szilamér," which is the name of a fort in Hungarian mythology, because it sounds like it could've been derived from "szelemér" as the language of the race.
> 
>  
> 
> 13\. Ezüstlélek: _Ez_ -eusht-lay-lek. First e is like in Emily.
> 
> Meaning: Hungarian for "silver soul."
> 
>  
> 
> 14\. Song in chapter 13: Not a pronunciation, but the song Talaitha sings in chapter 13 is a Hungarian folk song called "Szivárvány havasán" that's been covered by Holdviola. I've translated it roughly (and managed to keep the rhythm of the verses!) in the chapter.


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